


In The Red

by StarsGarters



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Plug, Anonymous Sex, Ass-Kicking, Attempted Murder, BOY TEARS, Bikers, Birthday Party, Bisexual Male Character, Blood, Bullying, Caretaking, Confessions, Dead Parent, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fantasizing, Fluff, Gaslighting, Glory Hole, Goodbyes, Head Injury, High School, Homophobic Language, Imprisonment, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, Lies, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Masturbation, Minor Injuries, Murder, Mutual Masturbation, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Porn Magazines, Premature Ejaculation, Redeemed Rollins?, Redeemed Rumlow, School Dances, Self-Mutilation, Sexual Repression, Sharing a Bed, Shibari, Shower Sex, So many lies, Soul Bond, Spooning, Underage Drinking, Wakes & Funerals, and everything goes to shit, bunk beds, dodgeball - Freeform, everyone mothers Brock, inappropriate use of power tools, made up military protocols, soul marks, tragic backstory, vindictive capture the flag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 51,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9560303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: A soul mark that suddenly swirls and reforms into a new name at least once a month has some interesting implications for society. First of all, it’s not always a name in a language the wearer can read.Some unlucky souls have marks that vanish, never to reform. Does that mean they’re so unlovable that no one could want them? There’s an unbearable thought. A soul mark is a lot like an appendix, everyone has one and one day it could destroy you.Brock Rumlow is eighteen years old and a Blank. He's never had a soul mark. And it's killing him.This is a 1980's Teen Movie AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/gifts).



Gym class was the worst, Brock thought as he hooked a finger in the elastic of his shorts and pulled them out of his sweaty butt crack. He'd tried to be clever with his class schedule and had ended up in a class full of Freshmen. They were all so little, like puppies. Some of them hadn't even gotten their beards in yet. The girls weren't much better. Well, most of the girls. 

Brock huffed out an exasperated sigh, he was team captain, again. The losers had to run four laps and Brock was not a loser. Not even at Capture the Flag. The whole thing was just an excuse for the coach to stay in the air conditioning while the kids ran around in the scrub at the base of the hill. 

"Listen up. I am not running any more laps today. You," Brock pointed at a kid who was scratching his butt and zoning out while looking at a girl's tits, "Get your hand out of your ass and listen up."

"Screw you. My mark was itching."

"Ooh Toby has a new name! Is it in English?" One of the girls, Jessica, chirped.

"Wanna see?" Toby smirked and began to bend over. Jessica shrieked in mock horror and Brock rolled his eyes at their courtship.

"No one wants to see that. Ever." Brock said with disdain, "Now we're going to flank them, they always bunch up in the middle and pick their noses--"

"Who made you the leader?" Toby puffed himself up like a pigeon. "Just because you're a Senior." Brock didn't say anything but his hand balled up into a fist, he knew what was coming. He'd had to deal with the same old shit, year after year.  "I've seen him in the showers." Toby narrowed his eyes and hissed out, "You're a markless freak. A Blank."

"Toby, stop it." Another boy said, a gangly kid with dark brown hair. Brock didn't know his name. Didn't really care. He wasn't going to miss anyone at this school. He wasn't going to miss anyone in this whole town. He just had to figure out how to escape. "You shouldn't say--"

"Fuck you. He thinks he's such a big shot. Big old Blank Brock. Well, he ain't shit." Brock's fist itched. He wanted to knock that sneer right off Toby's face. But there were better ways to get even.

"Hey Toby? Ever seen me lose one of these stupid games?" Toby shook his head. "Well I'm not about to start because you're excited about a new name on your ass. Now, we flank them or we run half a mile in 85 degree heat. Your choice asshole."

"I'm sticking with Brock. He's really good at this." Jessica said, her cheeks flushed pink, glowing red kanji letters peeking out of her shirt neckline. The rest of the group murmured in agreement and Toby crossed his arms in sullen, stubborn disappointment.

The flag was hidden in a pocket of brush on the hill behind the school, they captured it in record time. Toby had to go see the school nurse afterward, he'd wandered through a patch of poison oak. Brock sat on a bench in the shade and watched him limp back to the school, legs covered in painful itchy welts. Jessica sat down beside Brock and Toby saw her smirk at him as he went inside. She meant for Toby to see her, the little bitch. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jessica asked after a long silent pause. “Graduation?” 

_Vengeance._ “I guess.” Brock took a swig from his water bottle. 

Jessica wiped her forehead off on her arm and leaned back to show off the way her chest filled out her shirt. It was a good chest, Brock admitted to himself, but she was too young for him and there was no way he was getting stuck in this town. “There’s a dance coming up.”

“Huh.” Brock capped his water bottle. “I don’t dance.” 

“Neither do I. But my parents don’t need to know that.” Jessica glanced up at him through her dark lashes, darted her tongue out to lick her lips. 

Brock stifled a laugh. “You’re trouble. And won’t Toby get upset?”

She scoffed, “Like I care about a child like him. I'm a year older than he is. You’re practically a man. You just turned eighteen, right?” She reached over, took the water bottle from his hand and drank from it. 

Brock tore his eyes away from her pink, wet lips. _Not now boner._ “And that makes you _extra_ trouble, Jessica.”

The bell rang and Jessica stretched her arms above her head. She smiled at him, the warm red glow of her soul mark crested upon her collarbone and nestled at the hollow of her throat. Japanese characters. Someone out there was waiting for her, her soulmate. The one person who could bring her bliss. “Can’t blame me for trying. See ya later Brock.” She gave him back his bottle, then grabbed his hand, plucked a pen from her pocket and wrote her phone number on Brock’s palm. “Call me.” 

He stared at her ass as she left, then drifted his gaze over the track towards the mountains in the distance. He was the only person in his year who didn’t have a soul mark. The only one.

_Fuck it._ Brock tossed his bottle into the recycling bin. _I don’t need one of those things._ Brock thought as he walked home. _I’m better off Blank._

 

“I’m home!” Brock said to nobody. There was never anyone home after school now. “I didn’t get abducted by aliens!” He tossed his bag onto the couch and opened the refrigerator door out of habit. Nothing looked good or even fresh, so he took a swig from the milk jug, shut the door and headed to his room. 

The walls were covered in posters of exotic locales, muscle cars and bikini babes. A poster of a fighter jet was taped to the ceiling next to glow in the dark star stickers. He locked the door, opened his closet door and felt around for a loose board in the back. Brock pried it open with his nails and fished out a plastic bag full of magazines. 

Sandwiched in the middle of the hardcore girlie magazines was another magazine he’d found in the woods. It was crispy with exposure to the elements, faded and stained. A man on a motorcycle stared up at him, clad in leather and attitude. Another man dressed in fatigues, his pants undone showing his pubic hair. An old photo of a half-naked Captain America, his chest and arms perfected by science, his grin pure magic. Brock felt sweat bead upon his upper lip despite the air conditioning.

He hid his secret stash of pornography back in the wall and replaced the board. He had all the photos memorized, engraved into the grooves of his brain. Not only was he a markless freak, he— he wasn’t going to think about that. It was one thing to have the excuse of a soul mark to be a fag, but to choose that life?

He sprawled out on his bed and stared with one eye open at the pushbutton phone on the bedside table. The numbers on his hand had started to blur. Soon he’d lose his chance to— to— 

He rolled over on his back. To make her as miserable as he was? As miserable as his parents had been? He wasn’t that big of an asshole. Not yet. He just had to get out of this town. 

His grades weren’t good enough for a scholarship, his dad wasn’t rich enough to float him. “Brock Rumlow. You are talking to yourself again. By the way, you’re royally fucked. Why thank you for telling me that, I’d never have guessed that I’m going to be doomed to working at a gas station, getting blown at a glory hole at the truck stop.” 

Now that was an _idea._ He let his hand slide over his shorts, teasing himself as he thought about the man on the motorcycle. The one with green eyes and broad, broad shoulders. Thick, strong arms that could pick you up and carry you away.

Brock fantasized about kneeling down on the grimy truck stop bathroom floor and waiting in the stall for the man to stick his cock in the hole beside his waiting mouth. The door would shut and Brock would see motorcycle boots, scuffed black leather, approach and enter the stall beside him.

Brock swallowed hard. Instead of his cock, the man would push his fingers in the hole and Brock would lick the tips and suckle them until he made the man on the other side of the divider groan with anticipation and lust. He sucked on his own fingers to get them slobbery wet, blurring the ink on his palm. 

The mystery biker would be cut, Brock decided, because he had no idea what to do with a foreskin. And he’d taste, he’d taste like salt and sweat and bitterness as Brock bobbed his head, hungry and lost.  He fucked up into his wet fist, the fantasy man came down his throat— No! _On his face._

The biker would push open his stall door and hold out his hand, Brock’s name in fiery letters emblazoned on the biker’s palm. “Come with me.” _Oh I wish I could, I would, I would—_ Brock reached up to take his soul mate’s hand— he gasped as he shuddered, jerked through an orgasm. 

He pulled off his sock and used it to mop up his semen from his taut belly, the navel fur matted with spunk. He lay in silence, the whir of the air-conditioning vents disturbed his thick, dark hair. The phone rang. The answering machine picked up with a click. 

His father’s voice. “Brock, I’m staying late at the office. Take care of yourself.”

“I'm _trying_ , Dad. _I am_.” Brock whispered to his room, closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Brock's alarm clock clicked on and the radio DJ crooned, "Today is a beautiful day to find your soulmate. Now let's take a look at traffic and talk about this heat wave with the CloudCopter--"

He slapped the alarm off and tried to bury himself into the mattress. He'd slept the entire afternoon and night. It was easier to sleep than to think. A shower was mandatory. He smelled awful, reeked of dried sweat and old spunk.

  
He wiped the fog off of the bathroom mirror and sprayed hair mousse into the palm of his hand. The one thing that he had total control over, was his hair. He teased and combed and finished it with a spray of industrial strength hairspray.

A spritz of cologne. Brock rubbed his fingers over his dark stubble. Wasn't going to shave today, it made him look older. Set him apart from the rest of the crowd.

He looked good, he smelled good. Once Toby figured out basic hygiene, he'd have a lot more luck with the girls. But Brock wasn't going to tell him that now. Nope. Tough lessons, learned the hard way tended to stick with you. Mom always said, "Not even a soulbond can make me tolerate your father's bad breath. For the love of god, FLOSS." He braced himself against the sink and spat out his toothpaste.

Dad was in the kitchen, frying up some eggs. One over easy for Brock, the other sunny-side up for himself. For a long time, there had been three eggs in the pan. Sometimes he forgot and made three out of habit. Brock would eat the extra egg without comment, he was still growing after all.

Bread slices in the toaster. Slices of bacon, crisp and fatty. Orange juice to go with the vodka later that night. Guilt food. "You went to the store last night."

  
"Yes." His father replied. The toaster popped up and Brock slathered his piece with strawberry jam. He took a bite.

  
"Get a plate, you're getting crumbs on the floor." Brock pulled a clean plate out of the dishwasher. He could pretend everything was fine too.

  
"I got asked to a dance yesterday." Brock said around a mouthful of jammy toast.

  
"You don't dance." His father scooped the egg onto Brock's plate.

  
"Neither does she." Brock sat down and broke the yolk. He stirred the yellow yolk with his fork and waited for his father's reaction.  
It took a while.

"Huh." His father glanced over at him. "So it's time for the sex talk, right?"

  
"Daaad." Brock moaned and shook his head. "We took care of that in school."

  
"Did they make you watch that old slideshow? The one where they mention the War like twenty times?" His father smiled for the first time in weeks at the memory. It made Brock's stomach cramp. "It was in black and white, I think."

  
"You're so old. And I don't know if I'll even call her. She's a sophomore."

  
His father winced when he did the math, he limped over to the table. His leg was permanently hobbled from burns from the car accident. "When does she turn sixteen?"

  
Brock licked his fork. "I don't know. I've only got like three months of school left, you know that."

  
"Well, you could just hold hands, I guess." Dad poked at his food. "That's what your mother and I did."

  
"Yeah right. A full soulbond at sixteen and you just fucking held hands." Brock sneered. _While you screamed at each other._

  
"Watch your mouth. And it's true. You don't have to have sex to bond. You can just make out. It was a surprise to us too. Neither of us had marks before we met. That's why you shouldn't--"

  
Brock interrupted, his mouth filled with bacon. "I don't want to think about you bonding with mom. Okay? That's just _gross_. Seriously gross. And Jessica has a soul mark." He tapped himself where her mark was. "Yeah, I looked. It's in Japanese."

  
"Rough break for her. I suppose someone could translate it." His father took a deep breath and Brock knew what was coming. "Brock, you know that the bond doesn't make a relationship work, it's--" Brock's shoulders slumped as if he were a puppet with slashed strings. "It's more complicated than that. I would give anything to have one more chance-- My mark feels-- I'm not sure how to say it, but it feels numb now, Brock. I can't ever make it right, I know."

  
Brock stood up and put his plate in the sink with a clatter. "Thanks for the eggs."

  
"I wish you'd just listen to me for once." His father's voice wavered and Brock turned away from him. "I miss her too. I know we fought a lot, constantly really. Every morning I look at you and I see her--"

Brock couldn't listen anymore, he grabbed his bag and ran out of the house. When he was three blocks away, he stopped running and wiped his eyes on his shirt.

They must have loved each other once, they had to have loved each other, but all Brock could remember was hiding in his closet until things stopped shattering in the living room.  
He pitied the poor bastards who bonded, who had to deal with those ugly red letters seared into their skin.

He was better off being a Blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted from my phone, forgive me


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t a large school, because it wasn’t a large town. He’d seen the same faces everyday for the past four years. Except now, those same faces were all looking at him. They whispered as he walked by. There were giggles. A cold clot of dread sank deep in Brock’s gut. 

_BLANK RUMLOW._ Scrawled in dripping red paint on his locker. More whispers. More fucking whispers behind his back. _He knew who had done this. It was obvious. Now, how was he going to go about kicking Toby’s teeth in…_ They were laughing at him. _He would burn this place to the ground—_

A hand on his shoulder interrupted his planning. “Why don’t you come to my office while we get this cleaned up, son.” It was the vice-principal. Brock let himself be guided through the crowd of students. A welcome numbness began to replace the burning humiliation.

A paper cup of water was placed in his hands as he sat on a chair in the administration office. The vice-principal sat on the edge of his desk. “Drink that.”

Brock obeyed. The vice-principal sighed. “Do you know who might have done that vandalism?” 

Brock shook his head. His vengeance in his own time.

“Look, I know you want to go out there and beat that kid’s face in, but you can’t.” The old man pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Watch me.” Brock crumpled the empty cup in his hand.

“You’re eighteen. That’s assault. That’s possible jail time. And if it’s the kid I’m thinking of, his family is rich and powerful in this community. They will make you suffer. Do you hear me Brock?” It made sense, even through his numbness. Brock wasn’t booksmart, but he wasn’t stupid or brutal either. His intelligence was more cunning, made for problem solving and strategy rather than memorizing facts. He nodded and the vice-principal clapped him on the shoulder. 

“If you want, I can make arrangements for some at home tutoring.” 

“No.” Brock spat out. “I have three months left here. _Fuck_ him.” 

The vice-principal sat back at the vehemence in Brock’s voice. He studied Brock as if seeing him truly for the first time. “Normally I’d frown on that language,” he walked around to his desk chair and flipped through a desk drawer. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when your time is up here?” 

_Every waking moment._ Brock shrugged. “Not really.” 

“Your grades are passable. You excelled at sports before—“ he coughed, “Before your parents’ tragic accident. Have you considered the military?”

Brock buzzed his lips in irritation. “They don’t take people like me. Everybody knows that.”

“And why is that?” The old man blinked mildly at him. 

“Because I don’t have a soul mark, that’s why. And they use the soul marks to decide if you get in or not. If it’s a girls’ name, you’re golden. If it’s a guys’, then you’re screwed. If it changes when you’re enlisted then you can’t tell anybody or you’re out. No fags in the military.” Brock tossed the crumpled cup into the trash can. “I can’t provide any character witnesses because no one wants to date a Blank. So yeah, I’ve considered the military, they just won’t consider me.”

“Let me offer you a compromise, Brock.” 

“I’m listening.” 

The vice-principal slid a pamphlet across the desk at him. It was for a recruiter. Brock raised an eyebrow at him and the old man grinned at him. “That’s my old buddy. He owes me a few favors. If you refrain from beating the crap out of that punk kid out there, I’ll put in a good word for you. I’ll even be your character witness.” 

Brock clutched the pamphlet in his hand. The yearning in his voice was pathetic to his own ears, “You really mean it?”

“I was in the Navy. I can tell a good recruit when I see one. Even through that haircut. You shouldn’t be penalized for not having a mark yet. You’ll meet the right girl one day. So, do we have a deal?” The old man stuck out his hand over his desk.

“Alright. I won’t beat the shit out of Toby Mathers.” Brock shook the vice-principal’s hand and felt brilliantly, electrically alive with hope. The old man didn’t let go of his hand, so Brock added, “Or any of his cronies. Deal.”

The old man sat back in his chair and folded his hands. “Do you like to read, Brock?” 

“It depends on the book.” 

The vice-principal pivoted his chair to face a bookcase. He selected a paperback and handed it to Brock. _“‘The Art of War.’_ Do I have to write a report on this?” Brock thumbed through the pages. 

“No, just drop by the office if you find something interesting and you’d like to discuss it. My door is always open to you Brock, if you need a place to take a moment, to escape. Sometimes my wife makes cookies and I bring them in. I’ll warn you if she uses raisins instead of chocolate chips.” The vice-principal’s apparent sincerity made the tips of Brock’s ears redden. “You can go now. Remember our deal.” 

Brock put the book and the pamphlet in his backpack. “Yes.” Then after a moment of inspiration, he said “ _Yes_ _sir_!” The smile on the old man’s face told him that he’d made the right call. 

He shut the door behind him, a grin split across his face. His heart felt lighter than it had in _years_ and he could just see it, just about taste it— his _future_. He strode back to his locker, wet from the janitor’s sponge, spun the lock open and tossed his backpack inside. The future was a heady, euphoric thought, but the need for revenge burned brighter and hotter in his gut. 

Brock took a pen from his bag, placed it behind his ear, shut the locker door and leaned up against it. He waited for the end bell to ring and crossed his arms to make his biceps bulge out more. _Presentation counted._

The hallway filled up with students and whispers. “There’s going to be a fight!” Toby and his group of sniveling cronies took positions and stared at him. Toby scratched his butt, then his nose. Brock walked towards them, looked past them and passed by them. He continued on as if the jerks didn’t even exist and went over to Jessica’s locker. 

She looked up at him with big brown eyes as her friends tittered behind her. “Hey, I lost your number so I thought I’d give you _mine_.” He took her hand, plucked the pen from behind his ear and wrote his phone number on her palm. Then he curled her fingers up and when he was sure that everyone was watching, _everyone_ , he kissed the back of her hand like a storybook prince. One of her friends actually gasped. 

_There was more than one way to destroy a man_ , Brock thought as the tardy bell rang and Jessica fled in a flurry of giggles. Toby’s mouth hung open, catching flies. Brock winked at him as he put the pen back behind his ear. _Yeah, that’s right Toby._

_Fuck you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brock's town is about 4000 people, at the most. About 100 kids in each high school year.


	4. Chapter 4

 

The phone rang later that evening and Brock’s father picked it up. “Hello?” He looked over at Brock, who was sprawled out on the couch watching a game show. “It’s for you. Jessica.”

Brock leaned his head back and groaned. “Fine. I’ll pick it up in my room.” He had half hoped that she wouldn’t call and save him the bother of dealing with her. 

He shut his bedroom door and picked up his phone receiver. He waited until he heard his father hang up on his end and then he said, “Yeah?” Maybe if he was an asshole then she’d get the hint. 

Jessica made a huffing sound. “Yeah? That’s all you have to say to me?” 

Brock reclined on his bed and and settled in for an unpleasant conversation. “What do you want me to say?” 

“That corny stunt you pulled in the hallway. That was just to mess with Toby. Wasn’t it?” 

He blinked in surprise. “Kinda. I guess.”

She laughed, a mean little snicker. “Well it really worked. He was crying in the bathroom. I mean, _crying_. Such a baby.”

A smirk slid across Brock’s face, the warmth of spiteful satisfaction spread over him. “Was he? _Good_.” He wound the phone cord around his finger.

“So, are you going to forget about me or do you want to really make him suffer?” 

Brock snorted in response. “That’s not what I expected to hear from you, Jessica.” 

“Oh, you think that I’m going to start bawling and calling you names for breaking my heart? Please. You’re not my soul mate.” 

That hurt more than Brock would ever admit. Whatever. He didn’t even like this girl. “No duh. So are we done here?” 

“Oh shut up. I think you could be a lot of fun until I find my soul mate. Don’t you like to have fun, Brock?” The promising coo in her voice made his vocal cords seize up for a moment and he had to clear his throat. 

“I’m going to join the military after I graduate.” He hadn’t told his father yet. He couldn’t, not until it was a sure thing. 

“That’s cool. I like men in uniform. I bet you’ll look really hot. Do you think you could shoot someone? You know, if you had to?” Brock wriggled his toes against his mattress. 

“Probably. The thought doesn’t bother me. Never thought about it before.” 

“Well that’s what soldiers do. Better get used to it. I think I could do it. Sometimes I look at the people in my math class and think about who would be better off dead. Do you think that’s weird?” 

”You are very weird.” Brock answered honestly. But he was intrigued by her thoughts. So this is what it was like to talk to a girl who was interested in him. It’s not like any other girls would talk to him for a comparison. 

He wasn’t lonely. No. Of course not. 

“I’m unique. And I’m _so_ bored. Moving here from the city was the worst thing my parents ever did to me. It’s so rural I could spit.” 

“Your parents. Looking to get back at them a bit by messing around with the town Blank?” It’s what Brock would do, if he was in her situation. 

“Mmmm. That’s a bonus. I think you’re hot enough to spend three months with. I told you, you’re not like the rest of them. You’re practically a man. And I’ve got a birthday in like a month so you can relax about the whole jailbait thing.” 

“You want me to be your fake boyfriend?” 

“You’ll keep those babies from trying to hump my leg. They’re so gross and they don’t listen. You listen to everything. I can tell. You’re not meant for this stupid town. Maybe you’ll learn to like me.” 

Brock took a breath, a bit dizzy from the compliments and asked, “Do you still want to go to that dance on Friday night?” 

Jessica laughed at him. “I already bought the tickets silly. Just one slow dance and then we can leave after we’ve made everyone talk.” 

“I don’t have a car.” 

“Heather does. She’s going with Jason. We’ll share. They aren’t planning to stay long either.”

Brock stared up at the stars on his ceiling. “Okay.”

“Great! Try to look as good as I will, okay? See you tomorrow.” Brock hung up the phone and walked over to his closet, flicked through his wardrobe until he found something that might work for a casual dance. He was going to have to get her one of those flower things, a _corsage_. She said that he was _hot._ No one had told him that before. He dropped to the ground and started doing sit-ups. Even if this was a bullshit date, he was going to do it well.

Who knew if he’d have a second chance.

 

It was only Thursday and it felt like his life had been forever changed. 

“This is the stand up young man that I feel will do the Navy proud.” The vice-principal rested his hand on Brock’s shoulder. “I’m delighted to be his reference.” 

The recruiter had sized him up and down, Brock had even shined his dress shoes and worn suit pants for the meeting. “That’s some hair, son.” Brock flushed red and the recruiter laughed. “We’ll get you a slick, clean new do when you go to training. Have any idea what you’d want to do?” 

Brock ventured, “I think I’d like to learn how to fly airplanes. And shoot things. And maybe blow some stuff up.” He sounded like a moron. Like a little kid. “And serve my nation. Protect everyone.” The recruiter raised an eyebrow. 

“You want out of this town, right son?” 

“More than _anything._ ” Brock admitted. “I want to be something more than—“ He swallowed. “More than what I am right now. More than the town Blank.” 

The recruiter clicked his ballpoint pen a few times and appeared to come to a decision. Brock’s heart stopped beating until the recruiter smiled. “Well then. Here’s the standard enlistment forms and some paperwork for you to look over with your parents. Bring them back here when they’re done and we’ll talk about the next steps.” He extended his hand. “Welcome to SHIELD, son.”

“SHIELD?!” Brock gasped. “I thought you were from the Navy!” 

“I do that as well. But I think you’re a candidate for more specialized service and SHIELD can provide you a bright future with the potential to change the world. And I mean that.”

Brock clutched the paperwork to his chest, tears beginning to well in his eyes. “Thank you! Thank you sir!” He turned to the vice-principal. “I’m going to join SHIELD!” 

The old man smiled at him. “Never had any doubt. Now on your way, we don’t want you late for your Civics class.”

Brock practically skipped down the hallway to his locker, awash in giddy adrenaline. As he strode past Jessica, his free arm snaked around her waist and pulled her up tight against his side. “Oh!” she squeaked in surprise.

“I’m going to join SHIELD,” he said in her ear, just for the sheer pleasure of telling someone else about his good fortune. “Think I’ll look hot in that uniform too?” 

“Not as hot as you will when you get out of it.” Jessica sassed at him, her cheeks flushed red. “Let go of me unless you want me to make a scene.” 

“What kind of a scene, baby?” Brock let his voice get gravely. 

Jessica kissed him on the side of the cheek. Pink strawberry-scented lipgloss. Brock’s eyes grew wide and Jessica wriggled out of his grasp. “See you on Friday, _baby._ ” 

It was only Thursday and his life had been forever changed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to get a little 80's teen movie in here... Just imagine the soundtrack.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Brock floated home, a grin on his face and a bounce to his step. He unlocked the house, sat down on the couch and waited for his dad to come home. Butterflies in his stomach, he curled up on the couch with the book the vice-principal had given him. _Arthur Hampton_ was written on the inside cover. That was the old man’s name. He’d never asked.

It wasn’t an easy read, but something in it engrossed Brock. One hour went by, then two. He sat up and stretched, smacked his lips and got a bowl of cereal. 

He glanced over at the answering machine, the light wasn’t flashing. No messages. He had homework, so there was that distraction. He lost himself in figures and equations that he’d never use in a million years and when he looked up, it was dark. 

He turned on the television, cranked up the music videos and after drawing the curtains shut, began to practice dancing. Jessica had promised him one slow dance, but it never hurt to be prepared. It was kinda fun and he laughed at how the dancers on the tv swiveled and pumped their hips. 

He broke a sweat dancing and pushed his hair out of his eyes. A shower sounded good, so he turned off the tv. Naked and in front of the bathroom mirror, he scrutinized a new zit and stuck his tongue out at himself. “You’re not bad to look at, but don’t be getting a crush on me.” He practiced quirking his thin eyebrow just so. “Really, I just don’t have time for a relationship, not with SHIELD recruiting me. Oh yeah, SHIELD. You’ve heard of it, right? Just saving the world from commies every other day. That’s right, they want _me._ ” He started laughing until his gut ached then he stared himself down, green eyes flashing. “You will _not_ fuck this up. You hear me? You got it? _Good_.” 

He sang in the shower at the top of his lungs. 

When he was towel-drying his hair, he wandered back into the living room. The answering machine light was blinking. “Staying late at work, take care of yourself Brock.” Brock said, in unison with the recording and punched the couch cushion. He didn’t feel like eating. 

It was a late start Friday and an early release for grading, so Brock set his alarm so he could sleep in. He’d talk to his dad later. When he had time for Brock. 

 

* * *

 

Dad left for work before Brock woke up. The glitter on his achievement was starting to dim. He resented his father for that too.

Brock sat alone in the cafeteria for lunch, like usual. Jessica sat down beside him. She smelled sweet like peaches. “So what did you choose?” She leaned close to him, pressing her chest against his arm as she peered at his cafeteria tray. 

“I— I honestly don’t know.” He poked at the mess on his tray. “Maybe it’s Salisbury steak? Some kind of meat with gravy?” He shrugged and tried not to think about how soft she was.

“Barf.” She grinned at him. “On a tray.” He pushed it away from him with a grimace. “Sorry, were you really going to eat that?” 

He shook his head. “Nah. Had a big breakfast. So what are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?” She stuck a straw in her can of cola. 

“Why are you sitting with me? You got what you wanted from me with the dance thing.”

“Why not? You’re more interesting than anyone else here. And we’ve got to make it look like we like each other. Scandalous.” She pursed her lips about the straw suggestively and smirked when he looked away.

“You’re a tease, Jessica—“ Brock stammered. 

“Jones. You didn’t know my last name, did you?” She propped her chin on her hand. “I’m hurt.” 

“You talked to me for the first time, like three days ago. And you transferred in. When was I going to learn that?” Brock said. “You only know my last name because every asshole in this school likes to mock me with it.”

“Brock. Brock Rumlow. That’s a name you’d give a pro-wrestler.”

“Jessica. Jessica Jones. Sounds like a porn star.” 

They stared at each other for a few seconds until she burst into laughter. Brock had been holding his breath. Why was he holding his breath? “I was named after my grandmother.”

“I was named after my grandfather. It could have been worse. The other granddad’s name was Theodore.” Brock made a face. “Imagine being called Teddy.”

“I’d rather not. Hey Brock?” She whispered close to his ear, sending a shiver up his spine. “We’ve got an audience. Ten o’clock.” 

Brock took a drink of his milk and glanced over the top of the carton. Toby and his crew were watching them. “Why does that kid want you so much?” 

“That’s not important. Do you trust me?” 

“I don’t know you at all.” Brock sighed, “But we do have a common enemy so for the moment, yes.” 

Jessica dimpled. ”Good. Now hold my hand and laugh like I’ve just said something hilarious.” Brock took her hand and laughed at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Toby fumed and stomped off with his crew in tow. “Now take my tray over to the trash. I’m going to stare at your butt.”

“Why? They’ve already left.” 

Jessica sighed at him and ran her fingernails up his forearm. “Because it’s a nice thing to do for me and you’ve got a really cute butt in those tight jeans and I deserve nice things. Don’t I?” 

Brock didn’t quite know what to say to that so he followed orders. Jessica grinned at him. “There. That was easy. Dodgeball in gym today, better defend my honor.”

“Only if you’re on my team. Otherwise, you’re toast Jones.” He imitated her scrunched up nose. It was a cute nose. 

“Bring it on, Rumlow.” She punched him in the arm and swished off to class. Brock rubbed his arm, watched her with wide eyes and wondered if this was how relationships were supposed to be. It didn’t feel _bad_ , but Brock knew it wasn’t real. He was a tool, a distraction for her whims. She'd told him as much. For now, he'd enjoy her company until after that birthday she'd mentioned. Then he'd see how far she was willing to go to keep the ruse up. Three more months before high school ended.  _Three more months until my life begins for real._

* * *

 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Brock yelled at the bathroom mirror. He had the mother of all black eyes. It was red and swollen, turning purple and green at the edges like a ripe eggplant. He stomped off to the kitchen and got an ice pack out of it. “Goddamnit!” 

“ _Think fast_!” Jessica had yelled at him and he’d turned around because he was a stupid asshole. She’d hit him smack dab in the face with the stiff dodgeball. Nailed him. He’d just stood there as she clapped her hands to her mouth in horror at what she’d done.

“You Brock it, you bought it.” One of the other kids joked and Brock stumbled off to the side of the gym. He’d been in a daze as he walked home. 

Out of habit, he looked in the refrigerator. There was a plastic box with a waxy looking white flower and ribbon in it. An orchid corsage. _How did that get in there_? Brock hadn’t had time to go to the florist. He looked at the yellow sticky note on the top of the box. “You talk in your sleep, love Dad.” 

Brock dropped the ice pack on the kitchen counter and picked up the boxed flower. He started to bawl, wept like a sobbing baby. Messy wet tears ran down his cheeks and he put the corsage back in the fridge. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t cried like that since his Mom had—He blew his nose on his shirt and tried to calm down. 

He had a date. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd never seen this pairing before, so why not!


	6. Chapter 6

 

Brock was ready two hours early. He primped and teased while singing to himself in the mirror. His hair looked just like one of those teenage undercover cops on tv. Or that pop star with a dangling cross in his ear. He did his best with his skinny black tie. 

_Mom would have been really excited right now, she'd have taken so many photos_ , he thought and turned away from the mirror. 

He sat down on the couch, turned on the tv to study more dance moves. There was no way he was shaking his ass like that. No way. He'd watch the other dancers for a bit before venturing out onto the floor.

He got up, restless and anxious, and spread the recruitment forms on the kitchen table. His dad wouldn't be home by the time Brock left for the dance, so he wrote on a yellow sticky note: I GOT RECRUITED BY SHIELD!! He didn't really need his father's permission to enlist being eighteen, but it felt right. It felt like the beginning of being a grown up and not just a big kid. He added a third exclamation point.

He was four chapters into the _Art of War_ when his ride honked outside his house. Several times. Brock turned off the lights, made sure to grab the corsage and locked the door behind him.

Brock got into the tiny back seat with Jessica, put on his seatbelt. She looked him up and down and gave him a thumbs up. "Nice! I think you used more hairspray than I did though.” She looked down at the box in his hand and said softly, "Oh. Is that for me?" Brock forgot how his mouth worked for a moment. She was a vision in purple taffeta ruffles. He nodded because he couldn't trust his voice not to crack. "Pin it on me?"

His hand wasn't shaking. It wasn't. "There's a wrist thingy." He slid the elastic around her wrist and felt warmth rise in his cheeks. She was looking at the corsage thoughtfully. "I'm sure you're used to these."

She shook her head. “This is nice. Thank you." He finally let go of her hand. Her nails were purple too.

"You didn't get me flowers." Heather complained at her boyfriend, who shot Brock a sour look.

Heather parked her car at the school and they approached the auditorium doors. It was a crepe paper jungle with cardboard tigers and giraffes lining the walls. A photo booth was set up in the hallway and Jessica dragged him towards it. "Wait! No one said anything about pictures!" Brock protested.

"Oh it would be a crime not to when we look this good. Shut up, I'll pay for it." They stood in front of the backdrop that read ‘ _Jungle of Love_ ’, his hands around her waist. Brock tried his best to not blink when the photography cued them to smile. 

“Now let's go get in the yearbook. I know the photographer is around here somewhere--" Brock found himself dragged along the hallway and decided that he _liked_ it. It was easy to follow her lead, to take orders. This was fun and exciting, even though it wasn't real. For once, he didn’t worry about what the others around were thinking.

They stopped by the refreshment table for some punch. Toby was hanging out there with his date, Brock thought she was from another town. Jessica dug around in her small handbag and concealed her hands behind the tablecloth. It wasn’t subtle, but with the roar of the music, the flashing of the disco ball and the constant din of voices she got away with it. 

"You look really nice tonight Jessica." Toby half-shouted over the music.

"What? I can't hear you!" Jessica poured something in her cup and snuck her flask back into her handbag. Brock looked around for chaperones, luckily they were distracted by something else. Maybe something shiny.

"I SAID YOU LOOK REALLY NICE!" Toby yelled just as the music faded out between songs. The dancers tuned their heads towards them and Brock cringed from second-hand embarrassment and the possibility of Jessica getting caught drinking.

"Oh yeah. Thanks." Jessica tossed back her punch and drained it. Then she tossed the cup into the trash and pointed at Toby’s date. “Is that your cousin? You look a lot alike. It's okay to date your cousin as long as they're your second cousin, otherwise your babies will have two heads."

Toby’s date looked confused and before Toby could respond, a slow song played and Brock leanedover to Jessica, "Hey, let's go dance." 

He pulled her onto the dance floor. “If you were going to drink, you should have done it in the car. That was stupid.”

Jessica pressed herself up against him and wound her arms about his neck. She was so soft. “Just a little. Took a sip or two off the top of my mom's secret stash." He could smell it now on her breath. "Don't look at me like that. I was nervous. You're all hot and stuff. Don’t ruin it by being judgey.“

"Leave some room for Jesus." A chaperone scolded them and Jessica rolled her eyes as she pulled back, slightly.

"Why are you so mean to Toby?" Brock asked out of malignant curiosity. “Why all of this?” 

Jessica heaved a theatrical sigh. "We had a thing at Summer Camp. I popped his cherry.” She stuck her finger in her mouth and made a vulgar popping sound. “And now he won't stop sniffing after me. It wasn't even that good. His name isn’t on me, thank god. I’m sure your first time was totally awesome."

Brock looked at the ceiling. "Um. Sure. Sure it was." 

"Brock. Brock Rumlow. Are you a virgin?" She grinned wickedly, "You look like this and no girl has ever gotten in your pants?"

Brock sputtered, "I'm a Blank. What do you expect? A revolving door of chicks? You're the first girl who's even held my hand and you're fucking crazy." The way she looked at him when he called her that didn’t change his mind. 

"So, if I were to kiss you then that would be your first kiss ever?" Jessica licked her lips. "How exciting." Brock held his breath as she tilted up her chin and those strawberry scented pink lips--- She tapped him on the nose and he startled. "Not until the special dance."

"Special dance?" Brock asked, more than a little wobbly with anticipation and half an unexpected boner.

"You've never been to one of these, have you?" Jessica put her head on his chest and sighed. "You're wasted on this place. And you're going to go off and leave me."

"We've known each other for less than a week. You're way too dramatic, Jess." She felt really _good_ in his arms. Captain America’s perfect grin and shoulders flashed in his mind. Maybe he wasn't _that_ way if Jessica made him feel like this. Maybe he could fall for this girl."Three months. Make the most of it or don't."

"Sure, sure tough guy. It's not my fault I think you're hot. It’s all chemistry and dumb luck.” She smooshed her nose against his shirt. "And you smell good. So shut up and dance with me.” Brock swallowed and hoped she couldn’t feel him against her hip. He’d never live that down.

“And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Yes, yes everyone. The magical Mark Dance. We’re going to dim the lights now…” The DJ announced and the crowd murmured with excitement. 

“What’s going on?” Brock asked and Jessica shushed him. 

A switch flicked on and the room was alight in a hazy red glow. Brock gazed at Jessica as her soul mark seemed to catch fire under her chin. “Special lights. Makes the marks more intense. Look.” It was so beautiful, faces lit up as they swayed. The auditorium was blazing with soul light. Brock stopped dancing. He dropped Jessica’s hands and moved towards the exit. _He didn’t belong, he never belonged, this was a mistake—_

Jessica grabbed his shoulder and when he turned, she caught his lips with hers. Blood rushed in his ears and he felt, rather than heard her moan into his mouth. Brilliant light blossomed between them, Brock had to close his eyes it was so bright and when they parted, a few dancers whooped with spontaneous cheers. 

Jessica clutched at her soul mark and raggedly exhaled. “It changed! I felt that all the way to my _toes_. What does it say? What does it say!?” 

Brock wanted to reply, _Just like what happened with my parents. Of course, you have my name on you. And I have yours on me._ “Carl Lucas.”

Jessica blinked. “Well _fuck._ I guess I better not do that Japan exchange student thing now. Come on, let’s get out of here. I need some fresh air and what’s leftover in my purse.”

“I think— I think you’re going to have to share.” Brock said, squashing down his disappointment and bitterness. “We could walk to my house from here, if you want to.”

“Okay, I’ll go tell Heather. Do not leave me here Brock or I’ll hunt you down and make you completely miserable.” She threw him a brilliant smile that was almost as bright as the name emblazoned on her chest and neck. 

Brock stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall.  _Too late, Jess. Too late._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, I really enjoy reading them and they inspire me to write more.


	7. Chapter 7

They sauntered off into the night and walked in silence for a while until Jessica started to click her tongue in boredom. ”So you walk to school everyday?" 

Brock nodded. ”Yeah. It’s only about four blocks away.“

“Then why do you eat cafeteria lunch?” 

Brock shrugged. “Gotta get my Salisbury steak fix, I guess.” It was too quiet at home. At school there was a constant din, a hum of voices and sounds. At home all he heard was the absence of the sounds that had been there before.

“Gross. My mom drops me off in the morning when she heads into the office. She's an accountant. Dad's one too. Guess who’s flunking math?” Jessica pointed at her chest and grinned. “This girl, right here. I’m the disappointing daughter. What do your parents do?"

"My dad works for the city. Lots of late nights. My mom is dead." He kicked at a rock, it bounced off of a trash can. “I’m an only child so I’m always the disappointment.” 

"That sucks. What happened?"

"My dad fell asleep and drove off the road. Car caught fire. He made it, she didn't." He shrugged again. “I’m over it." Maybe one day he’d believe that. “Over it.”

"Huh." She reached over and touched his face, gentle and sweet. Brock startled at it and she smiled at him. "Sorry for giving you a black eye." She wasn’t apologizing for the dodgeball accident, Brock knew that. It made it easier to accept her sympathy. "You know it's going to be in all the pictures. It kinda matches your hair. You’ve got really great hair.”

Brock patted the back of his head. “It’s pretty messed up right now.”

“I don’t think you could have a bad hair day.” Jessica squinted at him. “ _Jerk_.” Brock started laughing at her and she joined in. 

Back at his house, Brock unlocked the door and prayed he hadn’t left any laundry in the living room. He took a quick glance across the living room and heaved a sigh of relief. “So, um. This is my place.” 

Jessica glanced over the living room and immediately went to the media shelf. Brock chewed on his lip. He had a lot of tapes. Horror, comedy, action, even some romantic comedies. When a movie was on then Brock and his father didn’t have to talk to each other. 

Jessica’s attention was grabbed by the third shelf down. "Cool. Cool. You have a lot of Captain America movies. Like _all_ of them.“

_Shit._ ”They're my dad's." Brock lied, “Cheeseball superhero stuff.” 

Jessica pulled out a tape and read the back cover, then put it back. ”I like the idea of being a superhero. Helping people. Not taking any shit."

Brock sat down on the couch. “Seems like a lot of responsibility."

Jessica stuck her tongue out at him. “Says the SHIELD recruit. That's all they do. Help people. Save the world. _Oooh_ maybe you'll be a spy! I think you'd look great in a tuxedo. You've even got the name for it. Brock. Brock Rumlow."

"I thought my name sounded like a pro wrestler."

She sat down on the couch next to him and he could smell the scent of her perfume. “Changed my mind. You've grown on me. Like a fungus."

He scrunched up his face. “A fungus?"

"Yeah, we're studying them in biology.” She leaned in close and Brock thought she was going in for another kiss. He closed his eyes and she said, “So, how good are you at Duck Hunt?” He quickly scrambled for the controllers to cover up his mistaken impression as she smirked behind his back. “I warn you, I’m deadly at this.” 

Brock twirled the lightgun and handed it to her. “I warn you, I have no friends and plenty of free time.” 

"Stupid giggling dog!" Jessica shot at the screen in frustration. Brock leaned back on the couch and laughed at her. "I thought I was really good at this."

"You'd just never met me." Brock took the lightgun and easily cleared the next level with a perfect score, without even sitting up.

"I wish I'd met you sooner. You're fun."

"Fun? Okay." Brock rolled his eyes.

"Is fun bad? I, like most normal people, like fun."

"No, fun is fine. I just want to be something more, you know? Infamous!" _Someday they’ll all be talking about me._

"That means more than famous, right? Me too. Pretty sure I'm not going to be an accountant." 

"Do you ever think about changing the world?" Brock took aim at the skeet level. It was all muscle memory and reflex. He couldn’t wait to learn how to shoot a real gun.

"Of course! Remember I said that I liked superheroes."

"Nah, I mean really changing it. Fixing the problems permanently. Like making those people who look down on you shut up for good." He had plans. Plans to make them all shut the hell up. When the other kids were gossiping in the halls, Brock was thinking about how easy it would be to block the exits. _Too easy_. Daydreams of escape led to fantasies of revenge. They watched the ending screen and Jessica dug in her bag for her flask.

"Here's to changing the world." She knocked back a slug and handed it to Brock.

Brock took a sip and made a face. "Paint thinner?" His dad bought good booze and trusted him not to dip into it too often. It wasn't like Brock was getting invited to go get shitfaced with the rest of his class and drinking with your dad was pathetic.

"Close." She grinned and Brock took another drink. "So are you gonna show me your room or what?" Brock nearly swallowed his own tongue. He capped the flask and gave it back to her.

"Give me like a minute." Brock rushed off to his room and picked up laundry off the floor, shoved his stuffed animals under the bed and threw the comforter over his unmade bed. Jessica was leaning against the doorway.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about your fluffy bunny." She bounced on his bed and peered up at his posters. "Aw, that's sad. You like blondes. And boobs."

"Well, I am a guy. That's what we're supposed to like." Brock sat down on the bed beside her.

"Supposed to like?" She put her hands over his eyes. "What color are Captain America's eyes?"

  Blue like the sky, blue like the flowers in the neglected raised beds outside his house. "Blue. Everyone knows that."

"Uh huh. Now what color are the busty bikini girl's eyes?"

He couldn't remember. The poster had been on his wall ever since he'd won it at the county fair, tossing darts at sagging balloons. "Uhhhhh. Blue?"  

She uncovered his eyes and tucked her legs underneath her, purple taffeta ruffles spread out like a chrysanthemum. "Lucky guess." She pointed at the glow-in-the-dark stars. "I had those too! Mom got so mad at me because the stickers ripped off the ceiling paint when we moved. Turn off the lights." Brock cocked his head at her, hair dusting against his forehead. "Oh I'm not going to jump you. I just want to see the stars glow."

Brock turned off the lights and Jessica sighed. "I really miss my old room. My old friends. You've lived here your whole life, right?"

"Yeah. But I miss my old friends too. Once everyone started sprouting soul marks and I didn't, well, everything changed." Jessica's mark glowed brighter than the plastic stars above them. "You're really pretty."

It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought she blushed. "Oh stop. Don't go getting mushy on me Brock. We're pretending, remember?"

"Do you kiss all your pretend boyfriends?"

"Yup. And most of my pretend girlfriends too. Got a problem with that?"

"Nope. You-- You could do it again if you want-- I need the practice for my next pretend girl--" His sheepish offer was cut off as she lunged for his lips. Kissing was great, Brock decided. In the dark, after the taste of strawberry was gone and if he closed his eyes... Brock pictured the man on the motorcycle, grabbing him by his skinny black tie and kissing him. Something pent up and mean uncurled in his gut and he wrapped his arms around Jessica, kissed her with increasing ferocity. She pressed her hands against his chest and shoved herself away from him.

"Stop! Jesus, Brock. You're hurting me!" She wiped her mouth on her arm. "You can't just jam your tongue down my throat. Not so rough!"

Brock felt bewildered by both her reaction and his impulse. He sputtered out an apology, "S--sorry! I don't know why I did that."

"Well if you do it again, I'll--" Jessica leaned forward, "I'll tie you up so you can't."

Brock's vision went white for a moment as he processed her threat. _It was the best thing he’d ever heard_. His pants grew too tight and he shifted his seat to conceal the hardest erection he’d ever had. _It was the booze, it was the kissing, it wasn’t the thought of being tied up._ What kind of freak was he? 

“You okay Brock?” Jessica asked. 

And before he could answer, someone knocked on the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for parental death. Again.

Everyone treated him like he was made of glass, liable to shatter into a million brittle pieces with a single harsh word. Relatives he'd never seen before showed up out of thin air and took care of the funeral arrangements, made murmurs about selling his home and poked around his father's papers. His father had left everything to him and had left him utterly alone. 

He sat with the urn full of his father's ashes next to him on the coffee table as round women full of well meaning bustled about him. He traced the pattern of the carpet with his eyes, numb from head to toe.

"Brock?" He knew that voice, had it only been a week? "Brock?"

He raised his head and forced a greeting. “Hey Jess." His voice sounded odd and slurred to his ears. It was pathetic. "Sorry, I haven't been at school. Had to make sure that they made Dad extra toasty. Just like Mom." He flicked the urn with his finger. 

Jessica didn't respond to his attempt at gallows humor, but took his hand instead. "Let's go to your room." Brock nodded and let himself be towed along as the funeral guests parted like the Red Sea for her. She shut the door, shooting a dagger-like glare at an aunt who looked at her funny. Brock sat down on his unmade bed and Jessica sat next to him. She picked up his fluffy bunny and hugged it to her chest. "Mom and Dad were so pissed at me when the cops drove me home, they thought I'd gotten arrested again. Go on. Tell me everything."

"Dad went to buy a cake. Because I got accepted to SHIELD. He got shot. The killer got away." His face contorted in grief and rage, "I got my dad killed, Jess. He wouldn't have gone to the store if I hadn't--" He'd been so proud, he wanted his dad to be proud of him, "I got him killed."

"Didn't he shop at night all the time?" Brock nodded. "So that's bullshit, blaming yourself."

"Dad took a bullet for the cashier. He didn't even know her! She's out there in my living room and I have no idea what to do! I want to scream at her for being alive."

Jessica nodded. "So, your dad was a hero."

"No, he was an idiot." Brock pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them tight. "He left me."

"He took a bullet for a stranger. That's what you've signed up to do, Brock. Think about it. Maybe he did what he thought you'd do." Jessica rubbed her eyes, her mascara smeared. "Anyway I'm not going to let the best fake boyfriend I've ever had be miserable without me."

"This isn't going to be fun, Jess."

"I know that. Idiot." She took his hand and put the bunny aside. "Life isn't fun. We just pretend that it is. Pretend with me, Brock. Come here." He put his head on her lap and she petted his hair, he closed his eyes and pretended that she was someone else. Someone else who'd made him feel loved and safe.

"I hate this feeling. I hate feeling so helpless. So angry. I want the asshole who took my dad from me to suffer, I want him to pay for what he did." His plans against his classmates were now focused on just one man. Their petty nastiness was insignificant in comparison to the random cruelty that Brock knew now.

"Well, I think I've said this before, but that's what you signed up to do. Remember?" She tugged on his hair. "There's a brain under all this fluff, I know there is. If the police don't catch him, I'm sure you will once you get all trained and stuff."

Brock went limp when she tugged on his hair again, amazing how something so simple was so soothing. Every frazzled nerve calmed. ”You think so?"

"I know so. And don't eat the pasta salad my mom brought, I think the cat sneezed in it." Brock smiled for the first time in a week. "Seriously, our cat is a jerk. One time she put a dead mouse in my sneaker and I didn't notice until after I put my shoe on. And then she thought it would be a good idea to have kittens in the middle of my mother's wedding dress. And then--" Brock didn't notice that he'd fallen asleep until she nudged him. "My leg fell asleep. Grab a pillow, doofus. And scoot over." She curled up around him like a cat and yawned.

"Your mom is going to freak out if she sees this." Brock murmured, weary to the bone.

Jessica shrugged with one shoulder. "Whatever. Wouldn't be the first time, at least I've got my clothes on."

 

"Happy Birthday to you!" Jessica's friends sang, off-key and enthusiastic. It had been a while since Brock had been to a birthday party. Arcade games bleeped and blooped, the rumbling sound of the bowling alley in the background. 

Sixteen candles lit her face in the dark and she blew out the candles. Her mother smiled and Brock felt a sudden sharp ache in his chest. His soulmark? _No_. He'd given up hoping that he'd have one. He really hated the jerk named Carl Lucas. Hate was easier to admit to than jealousy. 

“What?" Jessica asked him as the other girls and her mother went off to bowl, "You were staring at me."

"I-- that Carl Lucas better treat you right. That's all I'm saying. I'll beat him up if he doesn't." Brock crossed his arms.

"Oh Brock. I'll beat him up if he doesn't. I'm a take charge kind of girl." She swiped a glob of frosting off the cake with her finger and dotted a gloop upon his nose. "You're so sweet, I could eat you all up."

"Not in front of your mom." Brock protested and wiped off his nose. He dug in his pocket. "Here. This is for you."

"Ooh!" Jessica squealed and took the small wrapped box. She peeled open the paper and opened the lid. "A key?"

"Yeah. To my place." Brock rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not going to be there soon and the sale doesn't go through until after the escrow-- what I'm saying is that I trust you."

"For my sixteenth birthday, you're giving me a housesitting gig?" Jessica tucked the key into her pocket. "When do you have to move all your stuff out?"

"After the estate sale. I've got a storage unit for my crap. You can have my videogames. Happy Birthday.”

"And your Captain America collection. That's mine too." Brock squinted at her and she laughed at him. "You can have it back, sheesh! And I want Fluffy Bunny. I won't get to hug on you anymore, so I need a Brock-substitute." For a moment, her smile faltered and Brock swiped a gob of frosting for her nose. She ducked and collapsed in giggles. 

"You are the worst fake girlfriend ever." Brock licked his finger. 

"I am the best fake girlfriend ever. Now I'm going to humiliate you on the bowling lanes."

"Bring it on Jones."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Age of consent where I live is 16 FYI. So you have a good idea of what's going to happen in this chapter.

“Fucking _Blank_.” Apparently, the grace period for harassment after becoming a tragic orphan was about a month and half. Brock took a deep breath and shouldered his crammed backpack. His arms were full of other textbooks that he needed for homework. Toby hissed, “Did you fuck her yet?”

Brock rolled his eyes. “What do you think?” That would be a big fat old _nope._ It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it, he was a guy after all and she was a pretty girl who liked bossing him around and that made him think about other ways she could take charge. He liked her. There was nothing wrong with that. She deserved better than him and certainly better than Toby. He tried to walk past the seething boy but Toby stepped into his path.

“I was there first. I had her before you did. What do you think of that?” He crowed in triumph and it made Brock sick to his stomach with embarrassment for the kid. 

“I think you need a hobby. Model trains, maybe gardening? Dude, she’s done with you.” Brock congratulated himself on being the better man. He really was an adult now. Soon he was going to be in SHIELD and well on his way to making the world into a better place. “Grow the fuck up.”

Toby bristled and his fists clenched. “I’m going to beat the—“ 

“Toby!” Jessica’s voice rang out and students’ heads swiveled to catch the drama. “Do not touch him or I’ll beat the shit out of _you._ ” Brock believed that she could do it, her fist was wound in the strap of her deceptively heavy handbag. “I am fed up with this shit. Do not make me call your _mother_!” A chorus of _Oooooh_ spread down the hallway.

“But—!” Toby sputtered, “We had something real Jessica!” 

“The only thing you’ve been is a real _disappointment_. Now leave me and my fa—“ Brock cringed, she almost blurted out the word _fake, “Favorite_ boyfriend alone!” She grabbed Brock by the arm and marched him down the hallway.

“Thanks for the rescue?” Brock said when she had dragged him halfway to his house. “You know I’ve been dealing with that shit for a long time, you didn’t have to—“ 

“Why haven’t you tried to have sex with me?” Jessica blurted out. “All the guys I’m friendly have wanted to have sex with me. Is there something wrong with me?” 

Brock blinked and pursed his lips in thought. “I figured that you’d tell me if you wanted to have sex with me.” He shrugged, “You kinda call the shots here, Jess.” 

“Do you want to have sex with me? Because I will. I’m on the Pill, you know, and I will take full advantage of you.” She put her hands on her hips and stood up on her tiptoes to look him in the eye.

Brock felt his cheeks flush red. “Um. Thanks? But fake boyfriend here,” he did his best to point at himself with an armful of books, “Remember? Can’t have you falling in love with my dick, Jess. It just wouldn’t be fair.” He dodged her handbag.

Jessica kicked at some rocks. “Men! You’re all a bunch of assholes. I should tie you up and have my way with you just to teach you a lesson!” She threw up her arms in frustration and then noticed that Brock had come to a dead stop. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Brock’s face felt hotter than the sun and he gurgled, “I’d— I’d let you—“ She stepped close to him and pointed at her ear, “I’d let you do _that_. If you wanted to.” For a moment, he was terrified that he’d royally fucked up and he clutched his books to his chest. She tapped on her lower lip and contemplated his offer for an eternity. “Never mind! It was stupid. Forget I said anything—“ 

“Okay! Sounds like a blast.” Jessica swatted him on the ass with her bag and Brock stumbled. “Well get a move on, I’ve got homework too!”

 

Brock fumbled with the house key and Jessica sighed. “Wow. You’re shaking.” She grinned up at him, “It’s weird, but I love it when you look like that. All red and flustered.” 

“It’s just hard to open the door with all these books.” 

“Yes. Hard.” Jessica cackled and Brock knew he was doomed. He put his books down on the kitchen table and dropped his backpack with a thud. Jessica grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him towards his room. She pushed him down upon the bed and he obeyed her, boneless and pliant. 

“You are so pretty.” She told him and he believed her as she straddled his legs and began to kiss him. Brock’s head swam and his erection ached beneath her weight. “I could kiss you for hours, but I’ve got a better idea.” He caught his breath as she picked up his bathrobe from the floor. “You’re a slob, Brock.” She pulled the belt from its loops and gathered it up in her slim hands. 

“Uh huh.” Brock nodded, he’d agree to anything she said. _The moon was made of green cheese. Figure skating was a sport. Captain America was a commie._ “Yes. Yes.Total slob.” She loomed over him, a slip of a girl and Brock offered her his wrists in supplication. 

She tutted at his impatience. “Take off your shirt. Did you know I used to be a Girl Scout?” Brock shook his head as he scrambled to obey. Jessica trailed her nails up his flat stomach and said in a dreamy tone, “I’m pretty good with knots, not so good at fire-starting and never could sell cookies to save my life.” She flipped an end of the belt over the railing of his headboard and Brock’s heart skipped a beat. “We’re doing this the right way. My way.” 

“Brock scooted up on the bed and raised his hands over his head in surrender. Adrenaline and something better, something blissful washed over him as she knotted his wrists together. This was right, this was so good, this is what he’d been waiting for—He gasped and felt himself jerk through an orgasm. The front of his jeans grew dark and wet.

“Oh.” Jessica said, her voice soft and Brock shivered through the aftershocks of the best orgasm he’d ever felt. “You really liked that.”

“Yeah.” Brock’s eyelids fluttered, his lips parted and wet. “That was _great_.”

Jessica sat back on the bed and grabbed Fluffy Bunny. She was staring at him and Brock squirmed under her gaze.“So— do you want to do this again?” 

Brock nodded, “Oh god yes. Give me like twenty minutes.” Or less, if he was honest. 

Jessica laughed and tossed the stuffed animal aside. “Show me your porn stash.” 

“My what?” Brock played dumb.

“I know you have a stash. Everyone has a stash. My mom—“

Brock nudged her with his foot, “Do not talk about your mom right now. Just don’t.” He squirmed, “It’s embarrassing. Just boobs and blondes.”

“Uh huh.” Jessica snorted, “Prove it.” 

Brock began to panic, maybe she’d just look at the cover and get grossed out. What if she didn’t want to pretend with him anymore? Thatthought made his guts cramp with anxiety.

Did he put the gay porn magazine from the woods away last time he jerked off? Oh god. _He hadn’t_. He lived alone now, there was no reason to hide it in the wall.It was on his desk, less than a foot away from her. He glanced at the desk and then at the ceiling, but his endorphin-swollen reflexes were lazy and Jessica saw him. A smirk of satisfaction curled upon her lips.

“Now, _stay._ ” She commanded and Brock screwed his eyes shut. “Oh.” Her voice was low and intrigued. She flipped through the pages. “ _RamRod_ Magazine. Hmm. Oh, I like him.” She tapped Brock on the leg. “This guy. The one on the motorcycle. Is he your favorite?” His face was hot with shame, but Brock nodded. “Good taste. He looks like he could take care of business right there over the back of his motorcycle.” 

A trill of delight, “Hey there Captain America. I hadn’t seen this before. He’s got bigger boobs than I do. That’s just not fair.” Her hand strayed over to his crotch and her fingers rapped upon his damp fly.

“What are you doing?” Brock gasped out as she deftly unfastened his pants. She crooked an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m enjoying some quality men. Where did you find this?” 

Brock squirmed beneath her touch, getting hard again despite himself. He was at her mercy. “In the woods. That’s where you find porn. In the woods.” 

Jessica shook her head and propped the magazine against her lap as she lay next to him on the bed, one hand on his dick and the other down her panties. “I like this one too. Sexy cowboy. He looks like he’d bang you up against a barn and you’d say thank you for the splinters.” She began to stroke him, her hand slick and messy from his previous ejaculation. “Pretty men, but not as pretty as you Brock.” 

“Jess— Jess—“ Brock whimpered. 

“Yes baby?” She cooed in his ear. 

“Don’t stop.” He arched his hips and thrust up into her palm. She kissed the side of his neck as she rubbed herself. Too soon, they were shaking and breathless. 

Jessica wiped her hands off on Brock’s jeans, kissed him on the side of the neck and untied his hand. She put her head on his chest and absently played with the tuft of fur at the base of his belly. “So. That was good?” Brock nodded, his eyelids heavy and she snuggled into his arms. “You smell like a locker room.” 

When he woke up from his deep, dreamless sleep she was gone. And so was his magazine.


	10. Chapter 10

After two days of fretting, Brock had made up his mind. He was going to march right over to her house and demand that Jess give him back his magazine. He bristled at her petty theft, it was easier to be outraged than afraid that somehow her carelessness might expose his shameful secret. He locked the house behind him and set off towards the subdivision where she lived.

The sidewalk ended about halfway there and Brock walked on the shoulder of the road. A cherry red sports car with a gaudy gold firebird painted on the hood and blindingly bright headlights passed him. "Nice car, asshole." Brock muttered. It screeched to a halt down the road and pulled a U turn. 

_That wasn't good_ , Brock thought. It peeled out, smoke wisps curled out from the tires. It was going to run him over. The shoulder of the road was narrow and a steep creek bed loomed to the side. There was nowhere to go but down. The car charged him. 

Brock slid down the gravel slope, brush and brambles clawed at his skin. He covered his face with his arm. The car backed up, he heard a window unroll and a drunken chorus cawed at him, "Fucking Blank! Hope you’re dead!“ Brock wasn’t much of a detective, but there was only one person who hated him that much. “When you’re gone, we’re totally gonna take care of your slut girlfriend!” They sped off into the night and Brock began the slow, painful ascent up the side of the ravine. 

_Toby didn't have a driver's license_ , Brock thought as he spat out some dirt. One of these days, he was going to make that bastard pay. Brock was going to destroy him. Just like his father’s killer.He’d make things right and no one would ever push him around again. _Jessica… they threatened Jessica…_

Nothing was broken, he was pretty sure of that. His hands were badly scratched up and he was going to have some massive bruises on his side. The knees on his jeans were ripped out. His feet were wet with muddy creek water. He walked in a daze towards Jessica's house. He knew the address. He repeated it in his head. _Birch Street to Higgins Drive to Cobalt Lane. Birch Street to Higgins Drive to Cobalt Lane..._

He rang the doorbell and a small girl answered it. Jessica's little sister, Jenny. "Hi, I'm Brock Rumlow and Jessica borrowed a magazine I need for a class project--"

Jenny screamed at the top of her lungs, "Moooooom!' And slammed the door in Brock's face.

_Huh_. He rang the doorbell again and Jessica's mother answered it, after taking a long look at him through the security peephole. “Brock?" She seemed vaguely horrified and Brock squirmed in embarrassment. He could take care of himself. He could. 

"Hello, Mrs. Jones. Jessica borrowed a magazine I need for a class project—“ Something was in his eye, he wiped at it with the back of his hand. The back of his hand glistened red in the porch light. "I was walking and I fell--" 

Jessica’s mother nodded and took his arm as she led him inside. ”Let's get you cleaned up. I'll get the first aid kit." Brock took off his muddy wet shoes in the foyer. It smelled like dinner time. It smelled like family. It smelled like _home_ — Brock took a deep breath and held it. 

"Jess is in the shower." Jenny told Brock as Mrs. Jones had him sit at the kitchen table. He took off his backpack and set it beside him on the floor. It was stained with blood. "She uses all the hot water."

Brock didn't know what to say to that so he just listened. "She talks about you a lot. We're having lasagna. You're bleeding."

"I am." Brock agreed. "I fell."

Jenny regarded him with curiosity and then whispered as if relating a great confidence, "I don't like lasagna. Don't tell my Mom." Then she began coloring in a book at the other end of the table.

"Oh my god!" Jessica shrieked, her hair sticking out from her head in a frizzy towel dried halo. "What happened?" He wanted to hug her, hold her tight.

Her mother left the room for a moment and Brock enunciated carefully in her ear. "I fell. You have _my study guide_ and I'd like it back please."

"Study guide? We don't have any classes together---- _ohhhh_.” Her face lit up with realization and she winked at him. “Gotcha. You know you could have just called. You’re a mess. Brock. A mess. Look, I’ll get you some of my dad’s clothes. Just stay right there. I need pants for this.” Jessica straightened her pink bathrobe and dashed off to the back of the house.

Brock looked at his ragged fingernails and scratched up hands. It didn’t hurt yet. It was going to. There was a small television in the corner of the kitchen. Jenny turned on cartoons and Brock watched a cartoon cat chase a cartoon mouse. “You’re crying.” Jenny said as she picked her nose and handed him a tissue.

“Thanks.” 

She shrugged and went back to watching the cartoon. 

“She wasn’t bothering you, was she?” Mrs. Jones asked him as she helped him wash off his hands. Jenny stuck out her tongue at him.

“No. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.” Brock winced as she picked a pebble out of a gash with tweezer. 

“Do you want one? ‘Cause you can have Jenny.” Jessica said, “Little weirdo. Here.” She put a pair of sweatpants and some dry socks on the back of the chair. “I’ll put your shoes on the heating vent. They’ll dry out while we eat.” 

“Oh I don’t want to be a bother.” Brock protested as her mother bandaged his hands.

“Of course, you’re going to eat with us. I’ve made a huge pan of lasagna. And Bob won’t be back until Tuesday.” She wet a wash rag with antiseptic and daubed at the shallow cuts on Brock’s scalp. He flinched and closed his eyes. Once he’d crashed his bike and his mother had— 

“Thank you.” Brock said, not sure who he was speaking to at the moment. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“He can have my lasagna.” Jenny offered. “All of it.” 

 

Mrs. Jones wrapped up the rest of the lasagna for Brock to take home at Jenny’s insistence. “It’s just the right thing to do, Mom.”

Brock sat on the living room couch in borrowed clothing. His were in the dryer. Jessica put her feet in his lap and Jenny squeezed into place on his other side. Jessica put on a Captain America cartoon with a sly smirk and nudged him with her foot. 

“Ow.” He mock complained and then smirked back at her guilty expression. 

“Shh! Cartoons.” Jenny scolded them. They watched an animated Captain take down HYDRA with explosions that never seemed to actually hurt anyone and a sparkly moral message at the end about staying in school. Jessica twirled her hair around her finger, the glow of her soul mark glimmering soft under her chin. Brock leaned his head back against the couch. He closed his eyes. Once the aspirin had kicked in, this wasn’t so bad…

 

“Brock, it’s time to wake up.” 

“It’s not time for school yet, Mom, five more minutes.” Brock muttered, then blearily cracked his eye open. Mrs. Jones smiled down at him and he sat upright. Well, he attempted to sit up but Jenny and Jessica were sprawled over him like overgrown house cats. He freed himself from the tangle of their bodies and gathered his things. Jessica had put his porn magazine inside of a Teen Scream, he zipped his backpack up. 

“Keep the clothes for tonight, Jess can pick them up later. I’ll drive you home, Brock.” Mrs. Jones grabbed her keys. 

“I’ll come with—“ Jessica rubbed her eyes. 

“No, you’ll stay with Jenny. Get her to bed if you can.”

Jessica sighed, half asleep. “Okay. Bye Brock. Best fake boyfriend ever.” She curled back up on the couch and began to snore. 

Mrs. Jones zipped her coat and looked at Brock as if reappraising him. Outside the house, Brock said “I can walk—“ but Mrs. Jones shook her head. 

“Get in the car, Brock.” Brock buckled his seatbelt and hugged his backpack to his chest. He’d rather slide down the ravine again. It started to sprinkle and Mrs. Jones turned on the wipers. They hadn’t left the driveway. “You’re eighteen. Why are you interested in my daughter? Aren’t there girls your own age—?” Her sleeve fell back, exposing her paired soul mark.

“My parents were bonded too.” Brock blurted out. “I don’t have a soul mark. So no, there are no girls my age interested in me.” His head hurt. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jess has _Carl_ out there somewhere, lucky jerk.” 

Mrs. Jones snorted and the sound startled Brock out of his self-pity. “Poor unsuspecting Carl.” She sighed. “So why are you two dating? You seem like a nice kid, but you need to know that I would do anything to protect my little girl. Even from herself.”

She pulled out of the driveway and headed towards his home. At the second to last stoplight something impulsive and foolish uncurled in Brock’s gut and he stammered, “Mrs.— Jones. I have to—tell you something.” She pulled over to the side of the road and turned the hazard lights on.

“I’m not dating Jessica. We’re _fake_ dating. There’s this kid at school and he won’t leave her alone and we started hanging out because the loser wouldn’t take no for an answer and I’m sorry but that was the best lasagna I’ve ever had and I’m leaving for SHIELD Academy right after graduation and I’m so worried about what’s going to happen to her when I leave because she thinks she can take care of it herself and she doesn’t know— she doesn’t know how awful and cruel and horrible people can be and I’m scared—“ 

He was babbling and Mrs. Jones put her hand on his shoulder as he caught his breath, “I didn’t fall, Mrs. Jones. Someone tried to run over me on the way and I had to go over the edge of the road.” He was shaking, trembling. He wasn’t scared, no, he was angry. Burning with rage and hopelessness. “I wasn’t going to say anything because Toby’s parents are big shots and I have to get out of this town Mrs. Jones or I’ll _die._ But—“ He gulped, “I couldn’t do anything about my parents, but I can help protect Jessica. I really like your daughter, Mrs. Jones and he’s going to hurt her.”

Her eyes were wide and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Brock grabbed the door handle. “I can walk from here. Thanks.” Before he could open the door, she grabbed his bandaged hand. He looked up in surprise. 

“Was it a red sports car? Big goofy painted bird on the hood?” Mrs. Jones asked. Brock nodded. Mrs. Jones threw the car into reverse and flipped a U-turn so fast Brock was pressed against the door. “This will just take a minute, Brock. Mom business.”

They pulled up to a huge house with hedges trimmed into animal shapes. “Stay in the car.” Mrs. Jones ordered. Brock watched her trot through the rain to the front steps. She rang the doorbell and Brock unrolled the window so he could hear better. 

A very blonde woman answered the door and Mrs. Jones gushed, “Oh thank god Karen! You’re alright! I was so worried.”

“What’s wrong Joanne? Why wouldn’t I be okay?” 

Mrs. Jones clutched at the throat of her wet coat, “I thought your pretty red car was stolen because there’s no way you’d be driving like that!” 

“Like what?” Karen’s brow furrowed. 

“Oh Karen.” Mrs. Jones looked about as if to see if anyone else was listening, “I saw your car almost run over a child!” 

“No!” The denial was legitimated shocked. Maybe Toby wasn't supposed to be taking joyrides in Mom's car.

Mrs. Jones nodded, “Luckily he dodged the car and I had to fish him out of the ravine over by my place and the poor boy was all wet and bloody. But I think he’s okay now and _oh_ _Karen_ I was so worried that I almost called the police because that’s a serious crime. Such a distinctive paint job on your pretty red car.” 

Karen licked her lips. “You didn’t call the police?” 

“No. Not yet.” Mrs. Jones smiled, stiff-lipped. “But I _will_ if I hear a _hint_ of anything happening towards my daughter from your son.”

Karen glanced at the garage and then returned a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sure everyone will be on their best behavior.” 

“Quite.” Mrs. Jones turned and walked back to the car. The porch light snapped off as Karen shut the door. 

Mrs. Jones exhaled and leaned her head back against the headrest. She looked over at Brock, who was doing his best impersonation of a goldfish in a bowl, his mouth wide. “That was _mom_ business?” 

She started the car and Brock was grateful to be on this woman’s good side. “Of course it was. Your mother would have done the same. Just be good to Jessica, Brock and we’ll have no problems with each other.” She slapped her hand on the steering wheel. “Oh _shit_.” 

“What?” Brock rolled up his window. 

“We forgot the lasagna!” 

 


	11. Chapter 11

The house was practically empty. He’d kept the couch and the television out of storage along with at least two sets of dishes and his bedroom. Everything else was in storage or sold at garage sale. It looked like he was a squatter in an abandoned home. That wasn’t totally inaccurate. The house had sold and the new owners were waiting for him to ship off to SHIELD Academy. Brock envisioned them setting fire to the couch in the backyard because that was the only proper way to dispose of it other than burial at sea. The phone on the floor rang and he picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“I. AM. SO. BORED.” Jessica groaned on the other end. "Jenny won't stop singing this song about teddy bears and I've read every chapter left in that damn bio book twice. Save me Brock. You're my only hope."

“Nope. You shouldn’t have gotten grounded.” Brock replied. “I could have helped you with that biology project, it’s not like Mrs. Carmichael has changed the coursework in the last thirty years.” He turned down the television. This was going to be a long chat.  

“Blah blah blah, I don’t ask for help. I fail on my own merits. You know that. I'm not supposed to even be using the phone, but this is official Jones family business. Mom wants to know what you want for dinner on Friday night and please, don’t say lasagna because I can’t eat that again. You have been warned.” 

"But I like lasagna." Brock flexed his toes and sank back into the couch. Jessica had been grounded for two weeks and she was more than a little house-bound. “What about meatloaf? Oh! With those carrots with the maple syrup! Your mom is the best cook.” 

“Bah. You’re only fake-dating me for meals, aren’t you? Admit it!” 

“Oh, no. It’s your sparking personality Jess. Always has been.” 

“Well I picked you because of your butt. It has yet to disappoint me.” Things had taken a sharp turn towards the platonic between them, but Jessica kept pushing to experiment with him. “I’ll never find its equal.” 

“My old dependable ass. Sitting on it right now.” Brock snorted. The doorbell rang. “Hang on, someone’s here.” He set the receiver down and padded over to the door. 

The postman handed him a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and walked away. Brock shut the door with his foot and walked back to the couch. He picked up the phone and said, “Just got a package addressed to a make-believe person, _Jessica Rumlow_. If you’re taking my name, I get to pick the honeymoon destination.”

“IT CAME!?” She shrieked in his ear and he almost dropped the phone. 

“Don’t scream in my ear, dammit! Should I open this?” He fished his pocket knife out.

“Why why why why do I have to be grounded!?” Jessica moaned, “Yes! Open it! Tell me everything!” 

“Okay…” He slit open the tape and paper, styrofoam pellets spilled out on his lap. “There’s a book. It says— oh _Jesus Christ_ Jessica.” He looked around in his empty house, terrified that someone might see what she’d ordered.

She laughed, “Go on! Read it!”

“ _The Sensual Art of Anal_ by Professor J. J. Smith.” He flipped through the intricate illustrations, his eyebrows raised as high as they could go. “There’s a lot of assholes in this, Jess. A lot.”

“I can hear you blushing. Heh. So I ordered that out of the back of your _study guide_. I’m glad it finally got here, think of it as a graduation present. There’s more!”

Brock’s hand was shaking. “Oh god, there is. What is this? A tube of lubricating jelly?” 

“You’re going to need that for the other things in there.” 

“What the hell?” Brock whispered as he pulled out two rubber sex toys in a shade of pale pinky beige. He almost dropped them on the floor. “What the hell?” 

“I got them in Amateur and Expert.” Jessica sounded very satisfied. “Used my babysitting money.”

“I’m not doing this on you, Jessica. No way.”

“Pfft. Idiot. They’re for _you._ As soon as I’m done being grounded, I’m borrowing your bathrobe belt and experimenting on you.” 

“What the hell?” Brock stared at the rubber plugs like they were going to spring to life and chase him around the room. 

“Oh shit. Mom’s home. Do your reading, you’ve got homework now. You wanted meatloaf, right? See you on Friday.” She hung up the phone, as did he. 

Brock picked up the book and turned to page one. If this was homework, then it was okay to read, wasn’t it? It would be rude for him to turn down her gift, especially when she’d used her own money. He wasn’t rude, no. Far from it. He flipped to the next page. And the next while murmuring, “ _What the hell_?” 

He wasn’t about to let her do any of this to him without trying it out first. It didn’t seem so complicated after you got past the Professor’s flowery prose praising the orgasmic potential of the prostate. He’d never be able to look at the word _rosebud_ the same way again. He put down a towel on his bed, stripped off all his clothes and uncapped the tube of lubricant. It wasn’t like he’d never played with his butt before. This just seemed more _official_. A graduation present indeed. 

And that Amateur plug was a lot bigger than his fingers, he decided, then exhaled and pushed. He wasn’t a quitter. “Oh.” Brock shifted his hips and the tip nudged something within him. “OH.” His hips jerked and that made the toy do something wicked inside him. His fingers slick with lube, he gave himself a few quick strokes and it was all over. He’d spattered the posters on his wall. 

“That was _something,_ wasn’t it?” The stuffed bunny on his bed said nothing back to him and he nudged it with his foot so the toy’s button eyes weren’t staring at him. Maybe the Professor wasn’t so full of shit after all. But Brock was never going to call his butthole a rosebud. _Nope_. A man had to draw the line somewhere. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you know why she stole his porn magazine. To order things out of the back. Please allow 4 weeks for delivery.


	12. Chapter 12

"Go directly to jail, do not pass Go. Do not collect $200, Jessica!" Jenny crowed as Jessica flipped over her card. She fanned herself with a handful of fake paper money as she smirked in her footie pajamas and kicked her feet against the table leg.

"You can't even read." Jessica sniffed. Her pile of cash was much smaller than her little sister's.

"I know this card. Brock reads the other cards to me. He's better at being nice to me than you are." Jenny leaned her head over onto Brock's arm and she snuggled upon him. "Better at the game too."

"That's only because he's not exposed to you twenty-four hours a day. Your turn Brock." Jessica kicked him under the table with a grin.

Brock rolled the dice and drew a card. "I won second prize in a beauty pageant."

Jenny mashed her nose against his bicep. "You're pretty. And you smell good." She left a wet spot on his shirt.

"Thank you Jenny." Brock gently dislodged her from his arm. "Need a tissue?'

"You look like one of those boys in the band Jess likes but I'm not supposed to talk about."

Brock glanced over at Jessica who was suspiciously silent and her cheeks were turning pink. "Oh I do, do I?"

"We should adopt you. Then she'd stop crying about you." Jenny burped and patted her chest. "Excuse me. That's what you do with orphans. Adopt them. Everyone knows that."

"No." Brock and Jessica said at the same time.

"But why not?" Jenny blinked. "I like him better than you, can't I trade?"

"You little weasel. No, you can't trade in your big sister for a new big brother. It doesn't work that way. God I wish it did. I give up. You win the game. It wasn't even close."

"You're just sore that you didn't win second prize in a beauty pageant." Brock teased and Jessica threw the dice at him.

"It's time for bed." Jessica ordered.

Jenny held up her arms to Brock and demanded, "Carry me." He leaned over and hoisted her up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He'd been working out at the high school gym for the last couple of months because he wasn't going to be the out of shape kid at SHIELD Academy. The weights weren't as squirmy as Jenny was. He tossed her onto her bed with a whoop. She snuggled into her bed and said with a yawn, “Night Brock. I'll miss you.” 

“Night Jenny. I’ll miss you too.” And the weird thing was, he meant it. He’d been dreaming of escaping this town for so long. Now the thought of leaving felt like a gut punch. He turned off the light and shut the door behind him. 

Jessica was leaning against the wall, she held up her arms and said in a babyish tone, “Carry me too." Brock bent his knees and hauled her up in a fireman’s carry with a twirl. He dropped her with a bounce on the couch in the living room. She sighed, “I cannot believe that this is how you choose to spend your last night of high school. Playing board games with my baby sister while my parents go out."

“Don’t forget, I ate your mom's pot roast too. I’d do another year of high school if I got to eat here every night. You gotta let your mom teach you how to cook. Seriously, for Carl's sake. Those magic cooking skills have to be passed down." He pressed his palms together in a plea.

Jessica looked down at her feet, in a small voice she said, “What if I don't like Carl? What if I meet him and I don't want him? What if he doesn't like me? Or he's found someone else he likes better?" Her boundless self-confidence seemed to dry up and dwindle. 

_Don’t do this to me Jessica._ “You're soul mates. You don't really have a choice." He rubbed a small comforting circle on her back.

"Oh that's bullshit! I wish I were like you. Not bound to some stranger that I have no control over. Able to choose who I want to be with."

Brock rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah, being the town _freak_ is a real blast. If I had one of those," He traced the glowing red name on her throat with his fingertip, "I'd wish it were your name." It was the truth. “But I don’t, so I just have to make do with the time we have.” 

Jessica slapped away his hand. ”God, Brock you are such a tool." She looked as if she were about to cry.

"What? Did I say something wrong? I thought that was a nice thing to say.” He rubbed his face, perplexed by her reaction. 

Jessica threw a pillow at him. “You basically just told me you love me and you're leaving me forever in two days. _Two_ _days_ Brock. You're an utter tool." 

_Love?_ “I don’t know about loving you, that’s pretty deep stuff. We’re pretty young too, love is for old— Shit! I don’t know what I’m saying. I was thinking that we like— the same stuff and shit.” Brock huffed, “Listen, I just meant that we get along better than my parents did and they were bonded. Maybe we're meant to be friends?" 

Jessica wiped her eyes on her shirt. ”I don't want to be friends. Friends don't do what we've been doing at your place. Friends don’t hurt this bad when you know you’re going to lose them.“ She screwed up her face. "You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?"

"Say what?" He looked away from her. If she said that she loved him, he’d never make it at the Academy. He’d be thinking about her. He couldn’t— he couldn’t give up the opportunity to make something of himself, to make his parents proud. He couldn’t stay in this town just praying that _Carl_ never showed up. “I’m just your fake boyfriend. It was fun, Jessica. I’ll always remember the fun.”

Jessica burst out into sobs. ”Stop it. Just stop it. You're not my fake boyfriend. There's nothing fake about you." She stood up and grabbed a small gift-wrapped box from the side table. She tossed it into his lap, crossed her arms and stood over him with red-lined eyes. "Open your damned graduation gift."

He opened the wrapping paper and the lid. Office supplies? He looked up in confusion and she explained, “Self addressed stamped envelopes and postcards, a couple of pens and some stationary so you have no excuse to not write to me. If you don't write to me, I'll hunt you down. I swear to God, Brock, I will show up on your doorstep. Got it?"

He held the box and smiled up at her, perilously close to tears himself. “I got it." He put the box aside and held open his arms. She frowned and then launched herself into his embrace. They held each other tight.

"You're everything I want and I can't have you. It's not fair." She snuffled into his shirt. “But I won’t ask you to stay, because I know— I know how much the Academy means to you. They better treat you right. They better not fuck you up, Brock Rumlow!” 

"I'll never forget you Jess." _Never in a million years._

"I won't let you. You're mine. I chose you." She punched him on the shoulder. “Now are we going to have sex or not?” 

He nuzzled into her hair, memorizing the scent of her shampoo, the heat of her body against his. “Can we just keep doing this? I want to remember this.” 

“This is nice too.” 

 

Wind shook the eaves of the house and heavy rain smashed against the windows. He was an official adult now. Graduation had been a whirlwind of cheap blue satin robes and square mortarboard hats. His diploma was on the mantle and it felt like a cheap trinket to earn after four years of suffering. He smiled at the memory of the Jones family standing up and cheering for him as he walked across the stage. 

“Well, Mom. Dad. I did it.”

Brock curled up in a blanket on the couch, half a cold pizza on the floor. A slasher was terrorizing a camp filled with horny teenagers on the television. A pair of trysting teens were cut short before their orgasms and Brock muttered, “Well that’s just _rude_.”

Someone knocked on his door and Brock startled out of his seat.He looked out the peephole. Jessica was standing on the porch looking drenched and determined. “Jess, you idiot, you have a key—“, he began but she lunged at him and captured his lips in a kiss. 

When he pulled back, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m having a sleepover at Heather’s.” 

_Oh._ He let her into the house, small puddles formed beneath her feet. “You’re drenched. Let me get my towel. I only have one.” He hurried off to help her get dry. “What were you thinking?” Brock hollered from the bathroom. 

She leaned against the bathroom door, clad in nothing but one of his t-shirts and her underwear. Her wet hair made damp spots on the grey fabric and her nipples tented beneath it. Brock gulped. “I was thinking about how I wasn’t going to let you be the only virgin at the Academy. So are we doing this?” 

Brock stammered, “I don’t know Jess…” He wanted to, oh god how he wanted to, but it would make everything so much harder— _oh god._ He was hard in his sweatpants already. 

She rolled her eyes at his indecision. “Let me make this easy for you. I am going to make you feel good and you’re going to follow my orders, got it? I’ll tie you up if I have to.” 

“Okay.” Brock licked his lips. “You might have to do that, tying up thing. I'm wiggly.” He could have this, he could. She wanted him and he wanted her and it was just fine. No strings attached. He’d be gone and she’d forget him and everything would be just fine—

She grinned at him and his heart plummeted into his stomach. “You always make things so difficult. Now let’s see how many cowboy metaphors I can use at once. Rope me a bull. Hog-tie him. Ride you like a pony…” She flipped off the bathroom light and led him by the hand into his room, the glow of her soul mark illuminating the way. 

As she sank down upon him, the sweet wet heat of her swirling his senses, Brock let himself be happy. Gave into the pleasure that arched his back, the tantalizing slick friction and the burning scratches of her fingernails upon his chest. _This was good, this was worth protecting, this was who he wanted… At least for this one night, he felt whole._ His wrists strained against his bonds and Jessica bit at the corded muscles at his throat. She’d already given him a hickey, a bruising brand to display to others that she wanted him, that he belonged to her. 

He didn’t need it. 

He’d always be hers. 


	13. Chapter 13

 

Brock added up in his head the number of hours he'd be on this musty old bus. He was going to see the sun rise, set and set again. His duffel was loaded beneath the bus, the Academy was going to provide most of the clothing he needed. Good thing he looked awesome in black. 

First, there'd be basic training then he'd be loaned out to other agencies for special training depending on his aptitudes. No matter what Jess said, he doubted that he'd be drafted into the secret agent club. He wasn't that good at lying.

 The recruiter had taken him to the bus station, handed him a bag of snacks and made sure he got on the bus. Brock was glad that the Jones' hadn't come to see him off. It would have made it too hard to leave. He thought about the still warm sheets beside him early that morning. Jess had left without a word. It was probably better that way. He rolled his jacket up into a pillow and closed his eyes, praying that he wouldn’t get bus sick. 

Brock could still feel the softness of her lips upon his own, the memory of a kiss.

* * *

 

_Whoa_. 

The Triskelion loomed above the new recruits, overwhelming and magnificent. They marched past the Wall of Fallen Heroes on their way to the physical assessment wing. Brock tried to read a few names, _James Buchanan Barnes._.. Oh man, oh man… _Steve Grant Rogers._ The idea of following those legends’ footsteps, Brock felt like pinching himself. _Jess would have loved to see this…_

They sat in a darkened auditorium, the soft red glow of uncovered soul marks scattered amongst the crowd. An instructor launched into a lecture about the code of ethics and behavior. _Don't touch anyone who doesn't want to be touched. Don't talk about what you've seen. Don't be a fuck up._ Brock felt his attention wander to the heads of the recruits seated before him.

There were a few recruits his age, wet behind the ears. They were so wide-eyed with wonder that it made Brock squirm with secondhand embarrassment. He was cooler than that. Most of the recruits were older. Some of them looked like they'd already seen some shit overseas. Brock was glad of the time he'd put in the gym, it made him look older and less of a child.

"Okay, divide up. Men to the left. Women to the right. You'll be given physical exams and photographs taken of your soul marks for documentation."

"Why do you need photos of our soul marks?"

"Because your first lesson is going to be learning how to locate the name on your arm by using our databases and resources. How's that for motivation?" The crowd made a sound like they were at a fireworks show.

_Great_. Brock slumped in his chair. Another hand shot up. "What if you don't have a soul mark?" Brock bolt up right and craned his neck to see who had spoken. He couldn't make out a face, but the recruit's broad shoulders were striking.

“Special recruits will convene for a separate, yet equal assignment."

"If we have a soul mark with the name of the same gender, will we be dismissed?" Another brave soul spoke up and Brock held his breath. He liked girls now. He liked girls only now. 

"No. We expect our Agents to act in a respectful, professional manner with the highest levels of proficiency. We do not care who you are bonded with. In fact, we have research opportunities in the science of soul marks, some of you may be invited to participate. Any other questions?" A knot of anxiety in Brock's gut unwound. "Good. Follow the signs."

At the end of the efficient clinical examination Brock was declared fit to serve. "Proceed to the soul mark photography--"

"No mark." Brock said with gritted teeth as he pulled up his pants and pulled his shirt down over his head.

The screener didn't blink and put on a new pair of gloves. "Down the hall to the right then."

There was a pair of suspiciously wide shoulders occupying one of the chairs. Brock sat down a few seats away and crossed his arms. He tried to not be too obvious about his curiosity but when his eyes reached the young man's face, bright green eyes caught his gaze. "Trying to find my soul mark? You're going to be looking for a really long time. And you didn’t even buy me a drink.“ _Oh. What the hell?_

"Sorry. That was rude of me, I've just never met anyone like me before." Brock stammered, "I don't have one either."

"You're from a small town, aren't you?" The Academy issued black t-shirt stretched across the man’s chest as he leaned forward. 

Brock rolled his eyes and nodded. “Very small. Was it the accent?"

"The hair." The man leered at Brock the way Jessica would when she was going to make him do something incredibly naughty. Brock gulped in apprehension and the man laughed. ”I’m just kidding, _Pretty Boy_. Usually they make people like us attend group therapy sessions so we don't," he mimed shooting himself in the head, "So I've met a few other Blanks. None of them looked like you though. Are you sure you’re not one of those male models? What's your name?"

"I'm Brock. Brock Rumlow." They shook hands. He had strange callouses on his palm and fingers.

 “Jack Rollins. And I was just giving you shit about your hair. I can't do anything with mine so I just slick it back until it falls out like my old man’s.” Jack had an easy wide grin that made the corners of his green eyes crinkle and the back of Brock's neck heat up.

Another nervous young man entered the room and Brock was grateful for the new arrival, Jack’s attentions were as overwhelming as the Triskelion. Jack called out, “Hey, new guy! Are you a Blank?"

The new guy shook his head. “No, I’m a _Burn_ …” He pushed back his floppy dark hair and looked at the floor. 

"Oh _shit_.” Jack said, his eyes wide. “You’re so _young_.” 

Brock felt his jaw drop open. His father had been a Burn after his mom had died. Brock never called him that once, the epithet was always vile and acidic in his mouth. He said with all the sincerity and sympathy he could muster, “I know it doesn’t mean a lot coming from someone like me, but dude, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The young man shrugged. He couldn’t have been any older than Brock. “It's okay.” It would never be _okay._ Not for the rest of his life. He sat next to them and asked, “You're both _special_ recruits too?”

“Blanks.” Jack replied, completely comfortable calling himself the name that had made Brock’s life hell in high school. Brock envied his confidence. “What's your name kid?” Jack might have been three or four years older, but he spoke like he was their grandfather. 

"Isaac. Isaac Murphy.” He held out his hand. “I’m going to be a codebreaker."

Jack shook his hand with a firm grip. “I'm on the sharpshooter track. What about you, Pretty Boy?"

That was not going to be his nickname. No way. “My name is Brock. I want to protect everyone I couldn’t. I want to make the world a better, a _safer_ place. And I want to find my father’s killer.” He’d never said any of that aloud, but he meant every word. 

Jack whistled, low and appreciative. “We’ve all got a lot to unpack, don’t we? And I’m not talking about our luggage. You’re gonna need some help saving the world, Pretty Boy. We should stick together. Brains over there can help us with the studying stuff. You and I can make sure he passes the physical stuff. A trio. Two Blanks and a Burn.” He grinned as if that were clever.

_Jess would like him,_ Brock thought. _I think I like him too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am totally making up all the SHIELD stuff as I go along. It's more the old 80's movie Police Academy than Agents of Shield.


	14. Chapter 14

 

_It was just like summer camp_ , Brock told himself. _Only you’re going to learn how to shoot guns, fly planes and save the free world from the Communists instead of making macrame bird feeders_. And none of his former fellow campers were six foot two walls of muscle who insisted on the top bunk. Jack lolled off the edge of the bunk, his slicked back hair fought against gravity and lost. 

“Do you think they roomed us together because we're both Blanks?" Brock asked. “Not that I mind, unless you snore.” 

Jack buzzed his lips. “It's alphabetical. Rollins. Rumlow. And I snore like a buzzsaw. Sucks to be you, Pretty Boy.”

“Stop calling me that.” Brock dug in his duffel for his letter box. He’d promised to write to Jessica and he wasn’t going to break that oath. Possibly because he didn’t want to find a pissed off girl in the middle of his barracks room. He tucked a photo of them at the dance into the top of the box. He looked awful with his black eye, she looked like an angel in ruffles. 

"Stop looking like a centerfold. Who's that?" Jack was still hanging upside down like a bat from the upper bunk. 

The girl who made me feel like a person instead of a pariah. The girl who welcomed me into her family. The girl who wouldn’t let me give up the opportunity to join SHIELD. “Jessica." 

“Cute. That’s one hell of a black eye. Why are you writing to her?“

Brock shrugged with one shoulder. “She's my friend.”

“Just a friend?” Jack prodded and Brock bristled. 

“It wouldn't work out. She's only 16 and she has a soul mark. It's just better this way.” If he kept saying it, eventually it would become true. 

"That sounds like the plot of one of those shitty movies you'd take a girl to when you just want to get a handjob." Jack waggled his eyebrows.

"You're a charmer, Jack.“ Brock uncapped a pen.

"I have my good points. Trust me on the handjob. I'm an expert." He rapped his fingers on the bed rail and then asked, “Can I write to her too?” 

"Why?"

Jack groaned, “Because I'm so bored and it looks like you've got enough stationary in that box for an army of grandmas. Really, quit fucking around and give me a pen.”

“Don’t you have a girl to write to?” Brock ventured, it was a reasonable question. He handed up a pen and a post card. Jack retreated to his bunk. 

“None that want anything to do with me. Ladies and I, we just do not see eye to eye.” He chortled, “Probably because I’m so tall. You wouldn’t know anything about that.” 

“Shove it, Jack.” Brock began writing:

Dear Jess, I made it to the Academy just fine. Only threw up once. The Triskelion is HUGE. I'll send you some pictures. The cafeteria is not as good as your Mom's cooking. Tell Jenny hi for me. I miss you, Brock.

There wasn't much you could fit on the back of a postcard. All outgoing mail had to be put in the bin at the end of the hall, unsealed and ready for inspection. They'd signed nondisclosure agreements as thick as textbooks. Jack jumped down from the bunk and handed him his postcard with a flourish.

“Hi Jessica. I'm Brock's roommate. I'll make sure your boyfriend doesn't do anything stupid like die. Send us some cookies. Chocolate chip thanks. He talks about you ALL the time. Jack.” Brock read aloud.  "A real charmer."

"I might get cookies out of it, so I'm willing to give it a try. She gave you that hickey, didn't she?” Brock covered his neck with his hand. He’d forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Jack mistook his reaction for embarrassment and he continued, “Don’t be like that man. You got laid, congrats. There's nothing wrong with a little slap and tickle, I don't judge. And if we’re gonna be roomies, you better not either.“

“You’re not going to be bringing girls here, are you?”

Jack leaned slow and easy aside the bedpost, dripping with confidence acquired from years of experience Brock wished he had. “And some boys. You got me?” 

Brock capped the pens and tucked the letter box into his desk drawer. “Just— put a sock on the doorknob or something. I do not want to see you naked.” _Oh that was a lie._

“You’ll be missing out. I’m spectacular.” Jack yawned. “What room is Murphy in again?”

"Three doors down the hall to the right. I heard his roommate dropped out. First one to go.”

“Won’t be the last. I’m going to go get him. I didn't like the way he looked earlier. Like he shouldn't be left alone." Jack rubbed the back of his neck. 

"He looked like my Dad." Brock sat on the desktop and crossed his arms. 

“He's a little young to be your dad."

Brock grimaced. ”Don't be stupid, I mean... My parents were bonded and my Mom died in a car accident. Dad survived, but he really _didn't_. He died in the crash with her. His reason to live was gone. I think he threw himself in front of that bullet not because he wanted to save the cashier, but because it was a way out. I still want to find his killer, don't get me wrong, but I think my dad is happier now." Jack was looking at him as if Brock were made of spun glass, delicate and about to break. Brock shrugged. “Fucking sucks that I wasn't enough to make him want to stay around." 

Jack pulled on his shoes. “Yeah. That settles it. I need that beautiful brain of his to pass Cryptography."

"You're all heart, Jack."

“You’re the one who has to share his bunk, I’m too big.” Jack opened the door and made his way down the hall. 

“I am not sharing my bed, you asshole!” Brock protested at the top of his lungs.

Jack waved his hand in the air, flippant. “You can be the big spoon, Pretty Boy.” 

 

The separate but equal assignment was nothing of the sort. “This is complete bullshit.” Jack grumbled. Brock and the motley crew of rejects sat watching the other recruits as they researched like busy bees in a hive. 

There more than enough Burns and Blanks to make a full squad, even a bonded couple of butchy girls named Mercer and Anders. Most of them looked like Brock had felt in high school, isolated and persecuted. A few kept flinching at loud sounds. It made Brock angry. It made him think about the Tobys of the world. The academy wasn’t supposed to be like this.

There were agents watching him and the other misfits. Why would they be watching the kids who were sitting with their thumbs up their asses? Unless they were supposed to notice something important. This was a test. He figured it out after a few more minutes. It was a puzzle with a nasty little solution. He barked out a sharp laugh at his epiphany. Jack startled beside him.

"Something amusing, Recruit Rumlow?" an agent asked him. Brock wasn't wearing a name tag.

"This. This whole farce." Brock waved his hand dismissively.

The agent leaned in close so that the other recruits couldn’t hear them. "Now why would you say that?"

"Because, it's obviously a trap."

The agent sat down beside him. “Explain."

"You're giving them the key to their heart's desire. The locations of their soul mates. They just signed NDAs forbidding said contact. You're going to watch to see which ones try to initiate contact." He should just shut up and leave it at that, but he couldn't. They wanted the best and the brightest and he wasn't getting stuck on the sidelines again. "And there's a really nasty thought I just had... naaaah... it's nothing."

"Go on." The agent sounded curious and more than a bit patronizing.

"Those aren't their soulmates’ locations. You took pictures of their marks and manufactured the locations and database entries. I bet most of them are agents placed within say... 60 miles of here, just waiting to give them bus tickets home. It is a Friday, there's a whole weekend of free time coming up."

"That's devious. I like it. Just speculation and conjecture, right Brock?" Jack leaned in, totally eavesdropping. 

“Oh yeah. Totally." Brock watched the agent’s face for confirmation, but the agent laughed. He waved over another man.

"Agent Marcos?" 

"Yes, Agent Garrett?"

Agent Garrett patted Brock on the knee as if he were a dog who had finally figured out how not to take a shit on the carpet. “Escort these clever boys to the Guest Room. Continue with the operation.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

 

Despite the ominous sounding name, the Guest Room seemed to be just a slightly larger version of their academy quarters. Agent Garrett leaned against the door frame and smirked at them. “Sorry about this boys, but you're going to have to stay here until at least Monday so you don't taint the operation. We'll take your food order three times a day, bring you some reading material, make sure you don't go too stir-crazy." Brock’s jaw fell open. Three days trapped in this place with Jack? 

The agent shrugged, “You do get a private bathroom and shower, so there's that. Think of it as an exercise in safe house simulation. There’s going to be worse places you’ll spend the night especially if you make it on my team. I’ve got my eye on you, boys. Be sure to really get to know each other."

Jack started to raise his hand and then interjected, “Hey, can you make sure that Murphy gets a new roomie? It's... it's not right for him to be alone."

Agent Garrett raised an eyebrow at Jack and then nodded. “We'll take care of it. See you kids on Monday." The door shut and locked behind him. 

Brock looked about and his brow furrowed. ”There's only one bed." It looked larger than a twin and was the only place to sit in the room other than the floor. The agents had taken their shoes when they patted them down.

Jack launched himself at the bed. “Dibs. It’s only fair because your big mouth got us in this situation.“ He sprawled on the mattress. 

"We'll sleep in turns, you asshole."

“Sticks and stones. I repeat, it's your fault that we're here. You could have just kept your mouth shut." Jack leered, “There’s better things you could use it for.” 

Brock cringed and looked about for hidden cameras, “We're being recorded. You have know that. You’re not stupid.“

"Don't care. I've got no secrets, what you see is what you get. And they did say to get to know each other better. So what do you want to know about me?“

“Nothing.” _Everything._

“Well I’m a Libra, I like long walks on the beach and being the center of attention. I have two older sisters who won’t talk to me anymore and parents who disowned me after the third time they bailed me out of jail.” 

“You were in jail?” Brock sat on the end of the bed, intrigued despite himself. 

Jack held up three fingers. “Yup. Boosted bikes and cars. I liked the thrill. The chase. There’s nothing like that blast of adrenaline that you get when you do something dangerous and fucking stupid. I felt it back there when you were showing off to Agent Garrett. You’ve got some big brass balls for a Blank.” 

“For a Blank?” Brock scoffed. “I figured out the answer, that’s all.”

“Didn’t you see the rest of them? They looked like beaten kittens. Like a litter of puppies kicked down the stairs. But not you. You’ve got fire in you. I like that.” 

“How the fuck did you get recruited to SHIELD?”

“I met a guy at a shooting range. He liked the look of my targets, probably the look of my biceps too,” Jack flexed to make his point and Brock rolled his eyes after staring a moment too long. “We got to talking,” he made air-quotes, “And when he found out I was a Blank, he offered to put in a good word for me.” 

Brock nodded. “Like my vice-principal did.” 

“All old white men know each other. It’s fucking spooky.” 

“You’re white too.” 

“Look at you making assumptions. Half white. My mom’s Maori.” Jack yawned, “Tell me about you.” 

“Not much to tell. Only child. Dead parents.” 

“So you’re basically Batman.” 

Brock had to laugh at that. “Didn’t we all want to be Batman?” 

Jack’s eyes crinkled when he grinned. “I wanted to be Captain America. Swinging that mighty shield.”

Brock felt the tips of his ears grown hot. “Shut up. No, you didn’t.” 

Jack ran his hand down his torso. “I’ve got the body, but damn, I wanted to have the face. Life’s easier when you’re hot. I mean, you look like a wet dream. Gotta say I’m jealous.” Jack looked at Brock from beneath his long lashes as if daring him to deny his attractiveness. 

“You’re a bullshit artist.” Brock snorted. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” He rubbed his arms. “It’s cold in here. Really cold.” 

“They’re probably seeing how long it take us to start sharing body warmth. Bastards probably have a betting pool.”

“I’m not cuddling with you Jack.” 

“Not yet, you aren’t.” Jack hopped off the bed and sat on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

Jack wriggled his sock clad toes at Brock. “Sit ups. Hold my feet."

Brock obeyed because he had nothing else to do. “These abs don’t grown on trees.” Jack lifted up his black t-shirt to display a rock hard set. Brock yearned to reach out and touch them. He almost did. 

"You're going to stink the place up if you do a full work out.”

Jack blew a raspberry at Brock. “Man musk.” 

“We’re going to stop talking now, okay?” Brock huffed out. Jack finished his sit ups and moved on to push ups. It wasn’t fair how easy he made it all look. Muscles and tendons bulged in all the right places. _Jessica would be in heaven right now,_ Brock thought. She liked the biker guy in his porn magazine just as much as he— did— _oh goddamn it. Not now boner!_

Jack stood up and sauntered over to the bathroom. He whistled in appreciation and called back, “The shower looks big enough for two!”

Brock grabbed a pillow and stuck it in his lap. “Are you just going to hit on me for the entire weekend?"

"I'll hit on you for the rest of our lives, Pretty Boy. The way you blush is just too cute." Jack took off his shirt and then dropped his pants in a parody of a striptease. 

"I'm not talking to you anymore." Brock stared at Jack, the curve of his Adonis belt was sinful, there was a dusting of hair a little lower… _Shit!_ “No more talking!”

Jack gave Brock a thumbs up. “Oh! A silent contest. First one to say anything loses. Haven't played that since I was five and on a road trip to Grandma’s. Loser has to rub the winner's feet. One, two, three— GO." Jack stripped off his underwear and gave Brock an eyeful of asscheeks before he shut the door behind him. 

“I’m doomed.” Brock whispered to himself and the recording equipment. “Doomed.”

 

Lunch came. They were not given a choice of what to order. It was Salisbury steak.

 

It was hard to tell how many hours had passed since they were locked up in isolation. Neither of them had a watch on and the agents weren’t answering any questions.

The silent contest continued until Brock stubbed his toe on the bed post while doing his own workout to pass the time. "Ow!"

Jack snapped his fingers.”I win. Pay up. These dogs are barking." Brock sat down on the bed, his hair limp and plastered against his forehead. Jack put his feet in Brock’s lap and Brock began to knead them. Some of the groans that Jack let out were positively pornographic and that made Brock rub harder in those places. Heat prickled on his cheeks. “Whatcha thinking about, Pretty Boy?”

"I was questioning my life choices."

"It's not so bad, being in here with me, is it? We've got chemistry, you and I. I could see us taking long rides on my bike looking at the fall foliage and perusing yard sales. We could make a week of it and go visit that pretty girl of yours. She looks like a handful."

Brock smiled at the thought of the trouble Jack and Jess could get into. The trouble they could put him through. She’d want to _watch_. “She is. She really is. Remember that black eye I had in the photo? She gave me that in dodgeball. Very bossy, but I— I miss her.“

Jack put his hands behind his head. ”So, was she your first?"

"I'm not answering that."

"You kinda just did. I think it's sweet. A high school romance. My first was my friend's mom. She made really, really good cookies. She passed me around to her bored friends. And that’s why my family had to leave town. Yep, I can’t help being made like this. Is Jessica's mom hot?" 

Brock slapped Jack’s foot."You're so gross." 

"I am. I am. But I made you smile and isn't that the best?" He put his other foot in Brock’s lap and pressed it against Brock’s groin. “A little _harder_." Brock’s eye went wide as the air went out of his lungs. He scrambled off the bed. 

"I'm done with you."

Jack rolled over on his side and smirked. “Naah. So do you want me to braid your hair now?"

"What? No!"

"Wanna play spin the bottle? Or have a pillow fight?"

The tone that signified meal time rang and Brock was absurdly grateful for the interruption of their slumber party. He was not going to cave into Jack’s lust and have it be immortalized on tape. Not to mention any live observers! The idea of having strangers watch him be humiliated and ravaged made his stomach flip over. Because there wasn’t tenderness in in Jack’s touch, it was nothing like the sweetness of Jessica’s kisses on their final night together. They stood at attention as the agents entered the room. 

Salisbury steak again. And no reading material. 

“This is another test.” Jack said in between mouthfuls. 

“You think?” Brock sighed and pushed around his peas. 

“I meant eating with a plastic spork.” Jack held up his spork. “These are the devil’s eating utensils.”

“You have fingers.” HIs spork snapped. “Shit.” 

Jack licked gravy off of his spork. “Here. Have mine.” 

“You’ve had all your shots, right?” Brock took the plastic spork as Jack ate with his hands. 

“Maybe.” Jack made quick work of his meal and uncapped the lone water bottle. “You okay drinking after me or do you want to go use the bathroom sink, _princess_?”

“Look, just because I have manners doesn’t mean I’m a fag like you.” It just slipped out, Brock was mortified at his words. He set down his meal on the floor.

Jack wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “Wow.” He put his plate in the dirty dish tub by the door. 

“I— I—“ Brock sputtered and the words of apology wouldn’t come out. He felt like he’d just destroyed something, something wonderful and full of promise. “I— you can have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

Jack lunged for him and had Brock in a classic wrestling submission hold on the ground in a heartbeat. “So do you feel like a big man now? Tossing around shit like that? I’ve seen the way you look at me, boy.” Brock winced in pain as Jack wrenched his arm back. “And here I thought we were getting along. You’re laughing at my jokes, we’re bonding all sweet and then you gotta get all mean.” 

“I’m— sorry!” Brock cried out. 

“Sure you are. You’re so clever. Such a clever boy.” Jack said in Brock’s ear, low and gruff. “Maybe you just need someone to tell you what to do. Someone to make you get out of your own goddamned way.” His arm hurt, tears leaked from his eyes but Jack was on top of him and his weight pushed Brock’s hips against the floor and it felt so damned good that Brock moaned. 

Jack let go of his arm and rolled Brock over, bracketing Brock between his arms and straddling him with his legs. He clasped Brock under his jaw and stared into Brock’s glazed eyes. “You okay, kid?” 

Brock could only nod and thrust up his hips, seeking some friction against his needy cock. He licked his lips and grabbed two fistfuls of Jack’s shirt, tugging on it. Jack took the hint and pulled off his shirt. Brock ran his fingertips over Jack’s muscles, savoring the taut silk of skin. It was so different than the way Jessica felt, and he couldn’t stop touching, exploring. He dragged his thumbs over Jack’s nipples, the nubs thickened under his caress. Jack let him explore until Brock got brave and pulled his nails across the skin.

Jack seized his hand with a gasp, leaned in close and Brock’s lips fell open in yearning. “I call you Pretty Boy, but right now you’re so fucking _beautiful_.”

“They’re watching us,” Brock protested, his voice feeble with need. 

“They can go fuck themselves.” And Jack kissed him. Brock held back, let Jack do all the work as his head swam. Jack growled into his mouth, “Kiss me like you mean it, Rumlow.” It was a messy kiss full of teeth and plundering tongues, stubble scraping across stubble and Brock was so hard it hurt. _This was good, this was worth protecting, this was who he wanted…_

His eyes shot open as he came in his pants. Jack felt Brock shudder beneath him and he pulled a boneless, limp Brock up into his arms. “Looks like you needed that. Get up on the bed.” 

Brock obeyed, wetness spreading on the front of his grey sweatpants. “Open your mouth,” Jack ordered and Brock let his mouth go slack. 

Jack pulled himself out of his sweatpants and even through his orgasm-induced daze Brock thought, _Oh thank god. He’s cut._

Cut and swollen red. Jack rubbed his cock against Brock’s lips and Brock whimpered, an animal sound that made Jack press into his mouth. Hard, hot and overwhelming. Tears of relief and gratitude leaked from Brock’s eyes as Jack slowly fucked his mouth. _At least for this one night, he felt whole. Again._

“Your _face_.” Jack murmured in reverence and Brock sucked harder, looking up at a man who put all his porn-fevered fantasies to shame. Brock choked as Jack came in his mouth, salty-bitterness that was different from his own taste. 

Jack laid down beside Brock and pulled him into his arms. Brock listened to Jack’s heartbeat. Was this what it felt like to find your soul mate? Was this what people were hoping for when they saw the name etched on their skin? “Is this what it feels like all the time?” His voice was full of wonder. 

Jack shook his head and nuzzled into Brock’s hair. “No. It never feels this good.” 

 


	16. Chapter 16

Jack gave off more heat than an electric blanket and Brock allowed himself the luxury of being cuddled. He sighed and Jack planted a kiss on the back of his neck. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Can you not do that?” Brock tried to ignore Jack’s wandering hand. It rested on the apex of his hip like it belonged there and his thumb rubbed small comforting circles. 

“Not a fan of kisses?” Jack kissed the faded hickey on Brock’s neck and Brock felt a twinge of guilt. 

“Pet names.” Brock sighed again. “None of those.” 

“What did Jessica call you?” 

“ _Idiot_.” He smiled in spite of himself. “Usually idiot.”

“I really think I’ll like her.” 

Brock flipped over, his forehead touched Jack’s. “Why do you keep talking like we’ve got some sort of future?” It made no sense. Even for someone with Jack’s limitless self-confidence and relentless optimism. 

“What make you think we don’t?” Jack traced the edge of Brock’s cheekbone with his thumb, a gesture so intimate it made Brock’s heart race. 

“We’re probably getting booted out of here with the morons on the next bus.” 

“So what would you do if you had to leave? You’d take me with you, right?”

He’d known Jack for maybe three days, give or take. And yet, it didn’t feel ridiculous to nod in agreement. “I’ve got some money. Sold my parents’ house. Maybe go rent an apartment somewhere. Get a job.” Jack cradled the side of his face in his hand and Brock leaned into his touch. A wry, sad smile crooked upon Jack’s lips and he leaned in to steal a kiss. Kisses like that could stop a man’s heart. It made him think about the dance when the room was illuminated with red soul-light. 

And then Jack ruined the moment with a snort, “Sounds romantic. We could get a Winnebago and drive across the country. Grab that girl of yours. Fuck in all fifty states. Especially the ones where it’s still illegal.” 

“Come on. Be serious.” Brock rolled away in irritation and Jack loomed over him. 

“I’m always serious. Look this is my serious face.” Jack pointed at his mug. It was a wonderful face, but not remotely serious. Brock’s guts felt all twisted up. 

“Fuck. This is all I’ve wanted to do and I’ve screwed it up! I’ve ruined my life!” 

Jack gathered him back into his muscled embrace. “Oh, probably not. You’re not in jail. You’ve got those cheekbones. And I still like you an awful lot. It could be worse.” 

“You’re really serious? After all that just happened? I’m toast. _We_ are toast.” Jack’s eyebrows raised when Brock said _we_. 

“Nah. This isn’t the military. You’ve got too much up here,” Jack tapped Brock’s forehead. “To toss out on your ass. Nah, pretty sure that come Monday, we’re going to be in class and you’re going to be stressing out on coursework. Because you had to be clever, you’re going to get all the hard classes. Fucked yourself over there, buddy.””

“What are you going to be doing?” 

Jack shrugged and grinned. “Pissing off my instructors probably.”Jack pulled the blankets up over Brock and pinned him there with a drape of his leg. “Relax. Get some sleep.” Why had he thought that Jack’s fingers weren’t capable of tenderness? He combed through Brock’s sweat tangled hair, soothing Brock’s jangled nerves. 

_There were worse ways to fuck up your life,_ Brock thought. “You take up too much of the bed.”

 

When Brock woke up, there was a stack of fresh clothes for him. Jack brandished an actual fork as he tucked into his eggs, bacon and pancakes, crosslegged on the floor. “Hey sleepyhead.” Jack drank a swig of orange juice.

Brock pushed his hair out of his eyes, he hadn’t heard the food signal. “I’m still asleep, aren’t I?” 

Jack waggled his fork at Brock. “If you are, then I’m eating your dream bacon.” He pointed at the covered plate on the floor next to him. “Dig in.” 

“I cannot believe I’m grateful for powdered eggs.” Brock said, cleaning his plate. “Did they bring us anything to read?” 

Jack grimaced, “Just two copies of the SHIELD 101 textbook. Booooring. Guess I can read the gun safety chapter again.” 

Brock chewed on a strip of bacon and gazed up at where he thought a camera was placed. It had the best angle for capturing what happened on the bed. “Why do I feel like the rat who just got rewarded for finding the end of the maze?”

“I dunno, but I’m willing to explore all the variables if you wanna hop in the shower with me.” Jack offered and Brock swallowed the wrong way, choking on his bacon. “It will be more of an education than that shitty textbook, I promise.” And Brock believed him. 

 

Was it creepy to watch a man shower? Brock stood in the bathroom doorway and watched through the clear acrylic shower stall as soapy water sluiced over Jack’s body. He had some odd scarring on his right leg that Brock hadn’t noticed before. Jack lazily soaped his crotch, rinsed himself clean with easy pulls. Green eyes caught his gaze and Brock knew Jack had been putting on a show. Just for him. “Well now.” He crooked his finger and Brock felt the urge to kneel before him. “Don’t be shy. You’re safe here with me.” 

Brock’s mouth was dry and he licked his lips as he approached the shower stall. Jack ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back. “Tell me what you want.”

“Help me shower?” Brock hated how meek he sounded. Jack’s beaming smile soothed his anxiety.

“Oh sweet thing, you bet I will. Get naked.” Brock shucked his sweatpants and socks. Jack looked him up and down in frank admiration. “Lovely. Good boy. Hop in.” 

Jack lathered his hair with a pump of all in one soap from the dispenser on the wall. Brock had never had someone wash him before, not since he was a child. He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the feeling of scarred fingers, rough and tender at the same time. Jack soaped up his crotch and cooed at how Brock thickened in his grasp. 

“So, now that you’re all clean, wanna get dirty again?” Jack said in his ear then worried the lobe with his teeth. Brock gasped. “You gotta use your words Pretty Boy. Tell me what you want. Tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets and I’ll hold them close. You can trust me. Trust me to make you feel so good. So sweet.” Warm water rinsed his cock clean. 

“Please, I—“ Brock begged for the first thing that came to mind.“I want your mouth.” _And everything else. Oh god._

Jack grinned and sank to his knees on the tiles. “Trying to shut me up huh?” He cupped Brock’s asscheeks with both hands. “Good plan, clever boy.” Brock’s knees went weak as Jack showed him everything he’d learned in his misspent youth. It didn’t take long, a heartbeat, before Brock had his fingers in Jack’s hair. Jack smiled around his cock, droplets of water in his long lashes and Brock tossed his head back in happiness. Jack swallowed as Brock came, embarrassingly quick. 

Just as Brock was about to apologize for his eagerness, Jack stood up and kissed him. Brock could taste the lingering hint of himself on Jack’s tongue. “You’re so _responsive_.” Jack murmured. “You must like me.” 

“You have your moments.” Brock replied, trying to steady his wobbly knees. “But if we’re going to be roomies, I have to study. Exams first! Sex later. Got it?” He had to draw the line somewhere, the idea of having Jack at his beck and call was intoxicating. 

“Okay. Sounds like a deal. But you did just say you’d have sex with me. You know that, right? Think you could handle _this_ inside you?” 

Brock glanced down at Jack’s thick cock. He bit his lip and said with an arch coyness that felt new and natural, “Well you don’t look much bigger than one of my graduation gifts. The Expert size, I mean. And I could take that just fine—” He stopped, a small, nagging thought occurred to him. “What did you mean when you said you could read the gun safety chapter, _again_?” 

Jack’s eyes went wide and he pressed his hand over Brock’s mouth, shoved him up against the wall. “Do not say another word.” Jack said with a fierce whisper, “You’re safe with me. I like you. Remember that.” Then he was all smiles and easy charm again. “Come on now, the water’s getting cold.” He shut off the tap and grabbed a towel from the rack. “Maybe we’ll get something new for lunch, unless that was breakfast for dinner.”

Brock blinked and took the towel from Jack’s hands. “Yeah. Maybe we will.” _What the hell? What the hell was going on?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think so far? */anxious author*


	17. Chapter 17

His eyes were fixed on the textbook pages in front of his nose, but he hadn't read a word. Brock was pondering the mystery of Jack Rollins. Green eyes, sandy hair and a body that put Brock's wet dreams to shame. There was no way a guy like that would be interested in Brock for purely pleasurable reasons. He considered the evidence, what he'd observed. The odd warning in the shower. That wide flat scar on Jack's leg. The fact that he was Brock's shadow in the dormitory, always beside him.  

It was all so obvious when he took a moment to calmly contemplate it instead of being addled with hormones. Jack Rollins was no green recruit. Jack Rollins was a test, a plant. 

How could Brock have been so stupid? He didn't have a soul mate, so they'd dangled an equally tempting lure in front of him. And he'd bit it. Hook, line and sinker. Brock stifled a laugh. 

He was in another fake relationship.

The idea didn't bother him as much as it should. The sex was great. They hadn’t kicked him out, Jack was utterly confident they wouldn’t. They wanted him, they wanted him for something special and he was willing to play along. He'd been rewarded after that first encounter, rewarded for following orders and being a good boy. Jack kept harping about his brains so he might as well use them.

He heaved a giant sigh. Jack's head popped up beside the bed like a prairie dog in a hole. Brock curled in upon himself, his back to Jack. 

"That's a big sigh for chapter one." Jack said. He hopped up on the bed and got right in Brock's face. The corners of his green eyes crinkled when their noses touched. Oh he was _good._ “It doesn’t get easier.”

"Guess I'm a little homesick." Brock confessed. It was the truth. "I miss my fake girlfriend."

Jack’s eyelashes dusted his cheekbone and Brock chewed on his lip as he watched them. “Your what?"

He hesitated. “Um. Do you know how it feels to tell a lie for so long that eventually it becomes the truth?”

Jack slowly blew out a breath. “Do I _ever_.” 

“That's how the last three months have gone. I pretended so well, made everyone around us think we cared for each other.“ _And we did_."I thought I didn't have any feelings for her, but now? I miss her." Brock wiped at his nose with the back of his hand as if he were fighting back the sniffles. ”Sorry, I'm being stupid. I should be grateful for the chance I have here. If I still have a chance." 

"There you go, being all stupid again." Jack booped him on the nose. 

"Well, it's an easy thing to do when you're used to people fucking you over. If you plan for every possibility then you don't have to worry about getting hurt." 

"Are you worried about getting hurt?"

_No. Not now that I think I know what's really going on. You think you can use me? I'll use you right back._ “I think— and please don’t make fun of me! I could really fall for you, Jack. And that scares the shit out of me. Because you're just another recruit and this is my chance at a new life. So, I think I'll just focus on that and not _this_." Brock touched Jack's lips as if saying farewell to them. It was dramatic, it was overwrought. It was perfect.

Jack was not buying what Brock was trying to sell. ”Did you just try to break up with me?" Jack scoffed.

"We didn't really have anything real, did we?" Brock sat up and hugged his knees to his chest. "Just two horny guys in a small room. It was inevitable that we'd fuck. I want to be an Agent. I want to change the world, protect what's right. And I can't do that if I'm constantly thinking about the way your ass looks in those sweatpants."

“It looks amazing." 

"Modest as always."

Jack began to rub his back, small circles between Brock’s shoulder blades. “So what if I told you didn't have to make a choice like that. That I don't want to make a choice like that?"

"You're just a recruit, like me. You have no power, Jack. None. It was fun, but it's over." Brock shrugged off Jack’s hand. “Was any of it true, Jack? Don’t touch me. I can’t live another lie.” 

Jack’s hand snaked around his throat and flung Brock back against the bed. He was grinning. “Played me like a fool for a moment there. You clever little bitch. I fucked up in the shower, didn't I?"

Brock grinned back, teeth bared in a feral challenge. ”Yeah. You did."

“I was hoping to scare you into behaving,” Jack straddled him, pinned his shoulders to the mattress. ”Impatient little asshole. I wanted to spend the whole weekend here with you, but nope, you had to figure me out.” Jack didn’t seem upset, he was beaming with pride.

"So you're not a recruit."

A snort of disdain. ”Hell no. I'm almost ten years older than you, been with SHIELD special ops for the last five years."

"Was anything you told me about your past true?"

"Pretty much all of it. Best way to keep your story straight is to tell the truth. Or the same version of the truth." Jack winked at him.  "This was an audition. I’m picking new recruits for my squad."

"You mean for your bed."

Jack shook his head, “Naah, I just wanted to see if you'd do it. God I’m so happy you did. Sometimes we do things in this business that require _flexibility_. I wanted to see if we meshed. Sometimes those safe-houses get cold and lonely." He rolled over on the bed and pulled Brock on top of him. “Beauty and brains. And the tightest little ass I’ll ever have the pleasure of filling, I bet.”

"You're so gross." Brock felt like laughing and dying at the same time. 

"But you're not pulling away from me."

“Are any of the other recruits going through this? Because Jesus Christ, it was not mentioned in any of the pamphlets in the counseling office.” 

“Nah. Just you. It would be in your best interest not to mention it to the others. We don't want them to say we're playing favorites. I had to call in a few favors just to get the chance. All the squads are looking for talent. You’re lucky that Agent Garrett chose _rock_ instead of _scissors_ or you’d be out in the woods somewhere with a pocket knife and some paperclips.” Jack grabbed two handfuls of his ass and kneaded them. "What a waste that would be. Don't worry, I'll take care of you Brock. Make you into someone I'd be proud to have on my six. Unless you don't want to be."

Brock had the sudden feeling that if he said no to this, he'd regret it for the rest of his life.  "Are we being recorded?" Brock asked.

Jack pulled him down close and ground his pelvis into Brock’s. “Yes, we are. It's for your safety and wellbeing."

Brock gasped and then rocked his hips in reciprocation. ”Not for any blackmail purposes, of course."

"Of course not.” Jack lied to him. 

"So when can we get out of here?”

"Not until I give the magic word, Pretty Boy. Or Monday. Whichever comes first.“ 

"And what do I have to do for that to happen?"

“What do you want to do?"

" _Everything_."

"Good answer, _Clever Boy_.”


	18. Chapter 18

Dear Brock, 

I drove my mom crazy with my bitching so she bought me a camera. I’m on the yearbook committee now and people were not cooperating with me so I took shitty pictures of them and made them cooperate with me so those shitty pictures didn’t end up in the yearbook. I’m pretty good with this thing!

What does Jack look like? I hope you liked the cookies. 

Miss you, Jessica 

 

Dear Jess, 

Sorry I haven’t written more. These classes are kicking my ass. It’s totally awesome that soon I’m going to know how to fly a plane! I’m not bad at the shooting range, Jack says I’m a natural at this stuff. Jack looks like if page 24 and page 37 got smooshed together. Uh HUH.

He’s not my roommate anymore, I bunk with Murphy now. He’s quiet. Misses his cat. Reminds me of Jenny, some of the things he says. 

Your cookies made me the most popular person on this floor for like two days. Half the barracks owe me favors now.

Miss you more, Brock

 

 

Dear Jess, 

More cookies please. Brock doesn’t share. 

Thanks, Jack.

 

 

Dear Jack, 

Sharing is good. The second box is for you. Take care of him. 

Jessica

 

 

Dear Jess, 

I’m in an accelerated program for gifted recruits now. I’m not going to have a lot of time to write, but I’m going to do my best. I think I’ll be out of the country for a while, but I can’t say for how long or when. 

Just look for me on the news when there’s a press conference at SHIELD. 

Miss you, Brock

 

Dear Brock, 

I SAW YOU ON THE NEWS! Standing right by the Secretary of Defense! You looked so GOOD. I’m so proud of you! I recorded it on VHS and made my whole Civics class watch it. That’s Brock Rumlow! He went to school here! You’re the most famous person who ever came from this shitty town now! 

I want to visit. Wear the uniform.

Jessica

 

Dear Jessica, 

Why no more cookies? :( 

Jack

 

Dear Jack, 

Why isn’t Brock answering my last letter? I want to come visit. 

Jessica

 

Dear Jess, 

Brock is on special assignment. He won’t be responding for a while. Sorry, I know this is hard for you. I’ll make sure he’s well taken care of. How are your studies going? Ever given thought to applying to SHIELD? 

Jack

 

Dear Brock, 

It’s been a couple of months since I’ve heard from you. I hope you’re safe. 

Jessica

 

Dear Jessica, 

He’s fine, I promise. However, _I_ took some shrapnel to the face the other day so if you want to send me get well cookies, I’d be grateful. Please see enclosed Polaroid.

Jack

 

Dear Jack, 

JESUS CHRIST. That looks awful. And you are very hot. Very hot. Wow. I’m seventeen now by the way. 

Ask Brock if he remembers page 52 and see if he blushes. He deserves it, not writing back to me for my birthday. 

You both have to come to my graduation. It’s not negotiable. 

Jessica

 

Dear Brock, 

I forgive you for not coming to my graduation or my eighteenth birthday. I still record the news so I don’t miss you. You look like a real soldier now. Something in your eyes. 

I’ve applied to college on the East Coast, so we can be closer. I know you’re off saving the world, but could you make some time for me? 

Say hello to Jack. He’s the only one writing back to me. 

You idiot. 

Jessica

 

Dear Jessica, 

Haven’t heard from you in a while. I hope you had a great birthday and I can’t wait for you to come see me. I’ve finally got some downtime. Can’t believe it’s been over three years since I left home. 

I feel like I’m really making a difference here. And I have so much to tell you about you know… stuff. 

Miss you most, 

Brock

 

Brock,

I really need to talk to you. Something happened to me and I really need to talk to you. I can't get you on the phone and I don’t know what to do. There was an accident, I’ve been in the hospital for a while now. I don’t know what to do.

My soul mark is gone, Brock. 

Jessica 

 

Brock heaved a sigh as he cleaned his sidearm. He could do it in his sleep, some days he had done it half asleep, numb with cold. Special ops assignments were brutal, but Brock had a talent for it. Slowly but surely, Brock had made a name for himself as a tactician and an efficient killer. 

He didn’t have to stand next to Secretary Pierce looking pretty anymore. Jack had argued that it was a waste of resources, but Brock thought that maybe Jack just didn’t like the way Pierce looked at him. Like he was something tasty.

Jack was on the couch beside him, reading a report. The red scars on his face had begun to fade to pink, as had Brock’s guilt. _If only he’d been a little faster._

Jack wriggled his toes. “Nothing makes a patient feel better than when his nurse rubs his feet.” Jack had been back to active duty for ages, but he never stopped milking the injury for attention. 

“Do you want gun grease on your socks?”

“Not particularly. Why are you sighing?” Jack continued to read the report.

“I was thinking about Jessica. I haven’t heard from her in a long time.” 

“People grow apart. She probably went off to college and is cheerfully tormenting another boy. Maybe she found her soulmate.” 

“Maybe.” He finished up and wiped his hands. “So why did you get your soul mark removed?” He’d figured out a long time ago that Jack wasn’t a Blank. He wasn’t a Burn either. So that left one other option. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack turned a page on his report. 

Brock crossed his arms and leaned back on the couch. “Well, since I’m obviously an idiot then I suppose you can find someone smarter to suck your dick.” 

“Maybe someone who talks less.” Jack continued placidly. “Seems like a good idea.”

“Pierce asked me to be on his personal bodyguard detail. Did I tell you that?” Brock picked at a hangnail. “Seems like a great opportunity. Easy job, lots of perks. Less getting shot at.” 

Jack finally looked up from his report. He narrowed his green eyes. “Playing hardball, I see.” 

“Learned from the best.” 

“I had a soul mark. I took a belt sander to my leg. Now I don’t have a soul mark. Happy?” Jack went back to his reading as Brock boggled at his revelation. 

“Why? Why would you do something like that?” Brock’s gorge rose at the thought. He covered his mouth in horror. It took a lot to make his guts roil now, he’d seen things. He’d done things that never made it into any report. It was for the greater good. And that made it okay. That made it alright. 

Jack shrugged with one shoulder. “I had a belt sander. Figured it would do the job. Worked fine.” 

“But why!?” Brock gasped out. “Why?” 

“You really want to know?” Jack put the report on the coffee table next to Brock’s sidearm. “I found my soul mate. He was about seventy years old. I was fifteen. I _hated_ him. I refused to bond with him. I hated what being destined for that man said about me. So I made my own destiny.” Jack looked at his hands and clenched them into fists. “It would have been easier to have been born a Blank. You don’t know how rare people like you are, Brock. I envy you.” 

“Envy me? Why?” 

“Well, first off, you know that metahumans don’t have soul marks either. I had to make sure you weren’t one of those. I think we’ve established that you’re not some gamma ray infested freak by now. That’s a plus. Secondly, you’re the master of your own desires, your own destiny. You could choose anyone you wanted.”

“But no one wanted me! Just you and Jessica—“ Brock’s brow furrowed. “My parents were bonded, they fought constantly and made it work. Soul marks can change too. You could have had a new mark as you got older? I just don’t understand? Maybe you could have learned to love each other?”

“Doubtful.” Jack’s lips were set in a tight line. “I killed him. Self defense. He tried to force me to bond. Kidnapped me from the hospital. So I bashed his head in with a tire iron.” Jack stood up and moved towards the wall phone. “I’m thinking Chinese for dinner tonight, do you want the green bean chicken again or the Szechwan beef? I’m going to get the potstickers and some Kung Pao.”

Brock just stared at him. 

“Oh come on. It was one of the best decisions I ever made. Look at me now.” Jack gestured at his apartment. “I’ve got everything I ever wanted. And I chose it.” A smile, soft and tender. “I chose _you_.” He turned back to the phone, “So, green bean chicken or the Szechwan beef?”

Brock stood up and put his arms around Jack’s narrow waist. He rested his face against Jack’s back, between his shoulder blades and held him. Jack put his hand on top of Brock’s and squeezed. “Now if you’re really feeling sentimental and soppy, my dick isn’t going to suck itself.” Brock smiled against Jack’s shirt.

_He was making his own destiny too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments. I'm having a rough time of it and writing helps me cope. Thank you.


	19. Chapter 19

In hindsight, everything started to go to shit when Tony Stark came out as Iron Man. The showboating lunatic started it all. Brock had been in the same room as Director Fury when Stark had announced, “I am Iron Man,” and the man hadn't even blinked an eye. Well, he did only have one.

"This is the start of something very, very bad." Jack muttered in the cafeteria, digging through a plate of low carb lasagna. Brock took a drink of his coffee and let Jack continue. Sometimes he got the best information when he let the other person ramble. Brock didn’t feel the need to fill silence, especially not after all these years with Jack. They’d moved in together, had to apply for special accommodations. The world had changed since Brock had joined up. 

”Stark is a private citizen. He's a vigilante. Nothing good will come of this." Jack had gotten rid of the peroxide blond highlights. Brock had cut his own hair back to a more manageable long topped fade after getting tossed on his ass too many times. Long hair was a handle. But other than that, they still looked good. Extra scars, a chipped tooth. Brock smiled to himself and thought about what Jessica would look like now. He hadn’t heard from her in a long time, but you never forgot your first love.

"If you're rich enough, you can get away with anything." Brock tapped the Stark logo on his belt taser. "Stark's a genius, not a madman. I'm sure he can be reasoned with." They locked eyes and both of them burst out laughing.

Jack wiped away tears from his eyes. “Oh, oh that was good. I needed that. You just watch, everything is going to go tits up."

 

Jessica,

Write to us at this PO Box. Do not send anything to SHIELD. Don't try to contact us with email. Email isn't safe. Don't tell anyone about your soulmark. You're a Blank now. You've always been a Blank and you don't want to talk about it. The money is from Brock and I. The cell phone is prepaid. My number is in the speed-dial as Customer Care. Only call if there is a life or death emergency. Keep your head down, stay out of trouble. We'll answer questions later. You don’t want to be a science experiment, locked in a prison cell. We won’t let that happen.

Jack and Brock

 

Brock stared down at the strange hammer lodged in a crater in the New Mexico desert. It began to rain. Of course, it would start to rain for the first time in a year in the middle of the fucking desert. "There's the immovable object. Now where's the unstoppable force?" Brock muttered and went back to the command trailer.

The unstoppable force turned out to be a blond man built like page 15 in Brock's old porno magazine. He cracked at least two of Brock's ribs and dislocated his shoulder when Brock tried to take out his knees. Their whole STRIKE team had gone down like a cheap date on the rebound. 

Brock groaned in pain and disgust at himself, crawled over to Jack a few feet away. Jack's now sideways nose bled like a fountain down his wet face, a ribbon of red, he stabbed his finger up at the sky in accusation. " _Tits_. _Fucking_. _Up_." Then he passed out.

 

Jack and Brock,

I'm keeping my head down. Quick note. Got a job at a florist. I'm not allergic to anything anymore, not even lilies. I'm really strong now and I think I can fly! Or jump really far. There’s a difference. Jess

 

"Is it true?" Brock asked, bouncing in anticipation on the balls of his feet. "It can't be true!" He kept his hands up, Jack liked to take a sucker punch when he could. 

Jack sighed and said nothing more. Quick vicious jabs and a roundhouse that would have floored Brock if he hadn’t dodged it. Something was bothering Jack. 

“So it is true! They found the Valkyrie. After all these years. Is there going to be a state funeral?" A dance to the side, much different than the dancing they did out at the club when Jack wanted to show him off to the other gross old men. 

"There is not going to be a funeral." Jack circled him.

"How? How can they not bury Steve Rogers, Captain fucking America, without honors? That's insane! The man was a hero, that's not how you treat heroes!" Brock landed a jab to Jack’s gut. “That’s fucking bullshit!”

"You only bury dead people." The implication of that stunned Brock. He dropped his gloves and Jack popped him in the mouth. Brock fell back on his ass on the tarp. Steve Rogers was _alive?_

Jack loomed over him as Brock spat out blood from his split lip. “Never let your guard down, Brock. Never.” Then he kicked Brock in the leg. “ _Idiot._ ” 

 

Jack and Brock,

Just checking in. Thanks for the cash. It really helps. I think I've forgotten what Brock's voice sounds like. CAPTAIN AMERICA IS ALIVE!? Get me an autograph! Brock had all his movies, be sure to tell him that. Oh the things we did as Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers. Huh. Kinda creepy now that I think about it. 

I don't want to be a science experiment. I always wanted to be special, now I am. It's really lonely, guys. Jessica

 


	20. Chapter 20

It was in the gym that Brock first met in person, the legendary Steve Rogers. He’d seen him from a distance at SHIELD, sometimes without using binoculars. 

Jack had forbidden mention of Rogers’ name after Brock had asked, “Are Steve Rogers’ eyes really _that_ blue?” while they were in the middle of lazy Sunday sex. The purple ball gag wasn’t his favorite because it really stretched his jaw, Jack could be a petty bitch at times. 

Rogers was rubbing his left thumb over his right knuckles, over and over again. A nervous tic. Brock sidled up beside him and began to wrap his own fists. “You know, bit of friendly advice, it might hurt less if you wrapped up.” _Play it cool, play it cool._ “Do you need a sparring partner?” 

Steve Rogers’ eyes were _that_ blue. He lifted his eyebrows and shrugged, “As long as you know what you’re getting into.” 

“Just don’t punch me into next Tuesday and we’ll be fine. Brock Rumlow.” He offered his hand and Captain _fucking_ America shook it. Jessica would have _died_ … he bit back that thought. She was alive, somewhere out there. She had to be. He just hadn’t found her yet, even with the considerable resources at his disposal. Maybe she’d met her soulmate, a new one, and changed her name. 

“I guess you know my name.” Rogers sighed and pulled on his light gloves. He had the look of a man who was always in the spotlight and hated it. Brock felt a twinge of guilt. 

Brock grinned at him with neat white teeth. “While we’re in the ring, your name is _punk._ ” That got a real smile and Brock’s stomach lurched. “Just sparring or are we going full contact? Cause I am _down._ ”

“It’s your funeral.” They stepped into the ring. 

“But what a way to go.” Brock laughed and put up his hands. He didn’t notice Jack was watching them. He hadn’t thought about Jack at all. Jack was as much a part of his life as breathing and you only thought about breathing when you were suffocating—

A dodge and a hit. It was like hitting concrete. Rogers didn’t swing back. “You’re playing with me, come on!” Brock taunted, his ego getting the better of him. “I can take it, big guy!” Steve grabbed Brock by his shirt and hoisted him in the air. “I take it back! I take it back!” 

Rogers laughed and set Brock back down on the mat on his ass. “Hey man, thanks for the trip.” Brock held up his hand. Either Steve would help him up or leave him hanging, which would be rude. Steve Rogers was not rude. Brock clapped him on the shoulder. “Wanna get some coffee?

Rogers thought for a moment and then agreed. “Sure.”

“Only the finest. Do you take yours black?” Steve nodded. “Me too.” Brock set down two styrofoam cups. They were sitting towards the back of the cafeteria. “Gets a little loud in here at times.”

“I think I’ve heard your name before.” Rogers said and Brock nearly spat his coffee out. “You won the Carter Prize, didn’t you?” The Carter Prize was an award for heroism under fire. Brock didn’t quite remember what he’d done but somehow he’d managed to drag both Murphy and Jack away from a burning transport while getting shot at by insurgents. 

“Oh. _That_.” Brock left out a sigh of relief. “Yeah. That’s me. I thought you might have been talking about the other thing and I was like _‘Wow_ shit gets around’.” He felt heat in his cheeks and sipped to cover up his smile of satisfaction. 

“Other thing?”

Brock pointed at himself, “I’m a Blank. No soul mark.” He waited for the reactions he usually got. Surprise, pity perhaps even revulsion. 

Rogers ran his right thumb over his left knuckles. “I don’t have one either.” 

Brock’s mouth fell open and he set his coffee down on the table. “No shit?”

“I had one, it popped up right as I enlisted successfully. My soul mate was in Europe. Just my luck, right? All those years of wondering and pining were finally validated. Yeah, I knew him. _Best friends since childhood_.  But the serum burned it away. It constantly heals and renews my body. Watch.” Brock stared at Steve’s fist. Right above the apex of his knuckles a faint red glow kindled and faded away. It didn’t look like Murphy’s Burn mark. 

Brock reached out and peered closer at it, Steve’s hand in his. It repeated the cycle. “Feels like ants crawling under my skin. No one knew what would happen in the experiment I volunteered for. This was an unexpected side effect, not that it matters now. Time has taken care of it for me.” 

Brock shook his head. “But, the words are trying to spark up. That means there’s someone out there for you, doesn’t it?” 

Steve shook his head in return. “The pattern hasn’t changed, its the same. My soul mark doesn’t know that seventy years have passed. It’s still stuck in the past.” _Just like me,_  the lonely words were unsaid, but Brock heard them clearly. 

“Man, that’s fucked up. That’s so fucked up. You gave up your soul mate for your country.” Brock finally gave Steve back his hand. “That’s so fucked up.” 

Steve nodded ruefully. “Just have to look on the bright side.” 

“What’s the bright side?” 

“Well, I don’t glow in the dark anymore.” 

Brock laughed. “You got me there. You and me on the next stealth mission, okay? We’ll leave the nightlights in the dust.” Brock drained his coffee and decided that he wasn’t going to just be another fanboy. "How do you feel about lasagna and a good bottle of wine?"

Rogers blushed. He actually blushed. ”I’m not ready to start dating." Now wasn’t that the prettiest thing Brock had ever seen?

"Oh I didn’t mean it that way. I’m flattered, but my Jack would have a problem with that. He doesn't like to share. Bit of a character flaw." 

Steve inclined his head toward the exit. “That's the guy with the scar on his chin staring a hole through my head, right?"

Brock groaned. “Yeah. Probably." He made eye contact with Jack and gave him the _Get over here_ signal. Jack stood beside their table and Brock pulled him down to sit. “Jack, this is Steve. I was just inviting Steve to lasagna night."

Jack schooled his face to a careful blankness that made Brock grit his teeth. ”Gee honey, I wish you'd talked to me first. We're having a guest on lasagna night." That was the first time Brock had heard about a guest.

"I'll make two pans! The more the merrier." Brock did his best to smooth over the uncomfortable situation, but the damage was done. 

Steve graciously declined with a smile, ”I appreciate the offer. Good coffee, thanks Brock. We should spar again sometime." He stood up and walked away.

"Oh, okay!" Brock called after him and then turned on Jack. He hissed at Jack, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Jack shrugged. “I invited a guest over for your birthday. It was supposed to be a surprise but you had to go swoon over Captain Muscles." Jack sniffed. “He’s not that big.”

"Who is so important that you'd turn down a dinner with the symbol of -- of-- ALL OF THIS?" Brock spread his arms to indicate the entire Triskelion.

Jack shot him a look. “Right now is not the time to talk about this. Wait until we get home." Brock opened his mouth to protest and Jack said, ”If you love me, don't say another word about it.” 

Brock gritted his teeth in frustration and threw his coffee cup in the garbage. They sat in silence for a while, then Brock rubbed at his stubbled chin. “I should still make two pans of lasagna. Bring one to Rogers. He's looking skinny, don't you think?" 

 

Aliens invaded from the sky and two pans of lasagna sat, uneaten, on the kitchen counter for over two weeks.

 

"Oh god. I do not want to think about what our refrigerator smells like." Brock groaned on the ride home, he was nursing a headache after getting smacked on the helmet with falling debris. He'd refused treatment, he just wanted to get home. "I should have frozen the pans." The team had been in New York, evacuating survivors and gathering up alien technology. 

Jack winced. "Shit! I never put the pans in the fridge." Brock sighed and Jack apologized, "Sorry, aliens were invading New York, so I wasn't thinking about leftovers!"

"It's not like Rogers was ever going to eat it anyway. Looks like Fury put together a team of meta-humans. Seems like a lot going on there." 

"Widow and Hawkeye aren't meta-humans. She's a spy and he's a carnie."

Brock snorted. “A carnie that can put your eye out at twenty paces with a paperclip. Man, I'm glad I'm not on Damage Control. It's going to take months just to sift through the wreckage." They pulled up to their apartment. “Home sweet home. I wasn’t going to stay in the infirmary, fuck that noise. I’m going to shit, shower and shave and then pass out in my own bed for the next twelve hours. Hold all my calls—“ 

“Brock. Look." Jack elbowed him. Their lock was broken, practically pulled out of the door frame. They bracketed the door, then pushed in, a well-trained team. 

Feet were on the arm of their red leather couch. Blue toenail polish. The intruder sat up. Dark hair framed a familiar face, a light grey puffy scarf around her neck. 

“ _Jessica_?” Brock gasped out, not sure if he was concussed to the point of hallucination. She smirked at him and he holstered his sidearm out of sheer muscle memory. “Jess? Is that you?” 

“Of course it is, you idiot.” She held out her arms. “Come here.”

“Oh my god.” He stumbled towards her and she embraced him. He held her tight, felt tears of relief run down his face. “It is you.” 

She ruffled his hair, close to tears herself. “You look good Brock. Love the hair.” She laughed. “I kept watching for you on the news, Poster Boy. You’re a terrible pen pal.” 

“I thought you were dead! I looked for you, I’ve never stopped looking for you.” Brock said into the crook of her neck. “I never stopped looking.” 

“What?” Jessica pulled back and furrowed her brow. “Jack didn’t tell you?” They looked up at Jack who was taking off his gear as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening in his living room. “You didn’t tell him?” 

“I don’t understand.” Brock blinked back his tears and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. 

Jessica stood up, squared her shoulders and Jack _flinched_. “You let him think I was _dead_? How could you?” 

Jack leaned against the kitchen counter. “The fewer people who knew about you, the better. It was a need to know operation.” 

“What the fuck is going on, Jack?” Brock pleaded, he walked over to Jack. “Tell me.”

Jack wasn’t looking at him. “Put down the couch, Jessica.” 

Jessica Jones was holding their sleeper couch over her head. It took both Jack and Brock to move that incredibly heavy piece of furniture. “I’ll cram this couch down your throat if you don’t start talking, Jack Rollins.” Brock’s mouth fell open in shock. 

Jack sounded weary, “Just put the couch down. Please.” Jessica dropped it and the whole apartment shook. Pillows scattered about the living room.

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?” Brock gibbered. That was not normal human strength. 

Jessica pulled back her scarf. Unmarked pale skin. Not a hint of a red glow. Brock’s stomach churned and he clapped his hand to his mouth. “My soul mark is gone, Brock. Did he not tell you that either?” 

“No— oh my god. You’re a meta-human, aren’t you?” 

“Yep.” Jessica crossed her arms. “And you are fucking lucky, Jack Rollins, that you’re not picking your teeth out of the ceiling!” 

“You ungrateful little shits.” Jack pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and popped the top. 

“Excuse me?” Brock and Jessica said in unison.

“I’ve kept you both safe over the last decade and this is the thanks I get?” He took a swig. “Don’t you get it? There are factions within SHIELD who’d love nothing better than to strap you both to a vivisection table and pull out your guts to see what makes you work. A true Blank and a meta-human who can put Captain America to shame.” 

Jessica waggled her eyebrows at Brock, “Captain America can’t fly. I can. A little bit.” She grinned with pride. 

Brock grinned back, his eyes red-lined. “I met him the other day, you know that? He’s got these blue eyes and these—“ He gestured at his own chest. “Amazing pecs. I invited him to lasagna night…” He raised his eyebrows as clues fell into place. “Wait— Jessica was the mystery guest for lasagna night?” 

Jack drained his beer and tossed the can into recycling. “Way to go, _Clever Boy._ ” 

“You could have told me. I wouldn’t have exposed her secret.” 

“It was easier this way.” Jack got another beer.

“You wanted to keep him for yourself.” Jessica accused. 

Jack sighed, “You just— you just don’t get it. And I can’t say anything more.” 

“Convenient.” Jessica snarked. 

Jack pointed at her. “Fuck you, Jones. I paid your rent for the last ten years.” Jessica put her hands in her leather jacket pockets and looked at the floor. 

“You what?” Brock rubbed at his temples. “My head hurts way too much for all this shit. Are you staying Jessica? Yes, you are. Jack, we’re going to hash this out later.” 

“Strip him down. Put him to bed, Jess.” Jack ordered and Jessica swept Brock up in a bridal carry. 

“Jesus! How strong are you?” Brock squeaked as she carried him into the bedroom. 

“I kicked one of those aliens in the nuts and he flew through a building. So I’m strong enough.” She set him on the bed. “You look so good Brock.” 

He stared up at her in awe. “We should go back home and visit Toby.” 

Jessica laughed. “Oh I already did. Ripped the wheels off that sports car of his and put them on the roof. Sugar in the gas tank too. I’m petty like that. Serves him right for trying to kill you.” 

“So your mom finally told you about that, huh?” 

“She did. She’s very proud of you, more than her wayward daughter who doesn’t write or call.” She curled up beside Brock, ran her fingers up and down his gear as he took it off. “I don’t want to be a science experiment, Brock.” 

“Neither do I. I can’t believe your mark is gone. What happened to Carl?” 

“Dunno. Never found him. It doesn’t really matter. I have you.” She helped him take off his black STRIKE t-shirt. Jessica trailed her eyes up and down his torso and sighed as she touched his numerous scars. 

“Shrapnel.” He explained as she explored his skin. “Fell out of a plane. Appendectomy.” Her lips were so close to his, it felt like a memory. “Oh Jess. I’ve missed you so much. But, Jack doesn’t share—“ His voice was weak, feathery with need. 

“Well he’s going to have to fucking learn how to share,” Jessica kissed him. Brock held her close, stroking her dark hair. “Because I called _dibs_ years ago.” 

 


	21. Chapter 21

 

Brock left Jessica asleep on the bed. She’d curled up next to him and was snoring in his ear. He didn’t sleep as soundly as when they had been together, too many years of cat naps and stealing sleep where he could on missions. He’d changed. He wondered how she had. His headache was much better.

He smelled cigarettes wafting in from the patio. Jack sat on the porch swing breathing out lazy smoke rings. Jack only smoked when when a mission had gone tits up. Brock sat beside him and took the cigarette from Jack, he stubbed it out in a coffee can of sand beside the swing. “These will kill you." Brock chided. 

"I should be so lucky." Jack sighed. The swing rocked back and forth. They’d had it for years. Brock had added a rubbed oil finish to the wood a few summers back, it gleamed like satin under his thumb. 

_How could you lie to me? How could you let me think she was dead? What is your end game?_ “Neighbors away?"

Jack nodded. “Yup. Katie has some school thing. Oh I made sure Marla's shitty ex won't be coming back." Marla was a single mom, Jack rented out the other side of the townhouse apartment to her at well below market rate. Called it his _civic duty_. "Cleaned my really big gun in her living room the last time he came by to cause a ruckus. Head to toe Kevlar and a smear of blood right across my face." Jack grinned with self-satisfaction and rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

Brock cracked a smile and shifted his feet on the patio wood. 

"It's one of the small pleasures of life." Jack pulled out another cigarette and lit it. He leaned forward on his knees. “Do you remember the first time I saw you?"

“Sure. At the training assembly. In the side room after the physical." 

Jack  took a drag of his cigarette and shook his head. “No. In the hallway. At your high school." Brock stiffened in surprise, but he let Jack continue. He hadn’t gotten this far in life not knowing when to shut the fuck up. Jack flicked ash over the edge of the patio. "We did scouting trips to assess our most promising recruits. You had the big flashing Blank sign over your head.” Jack pantomimed a blinking light with his hand. “Add in _recent tragic orphan_ and you were perfect for the more specialized parts of SHIELD. No attachments. No loyalties to anyone other than yourself." 

"But then I saw you with Jessica. I didn't know her name then. The way your face lit up when you were with her. You had attachments. Deep ones." Jack rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked tired with dark circles about his eyes. He stood up and walked into the overlong grass of their backyard. "Now, certain factions within SHIELD thought it would be expedient to remove said attachments. Really grind your heart to dust under their heels.” Jack ground out his cigarette with his own heel. “Make you into a loyal attack dog." Jack beckoned at him, “Gonna punch me now? I’ll let you have a free shot.” 

That was a stalling technique. Giving into his violent impulses would stop the flow of Jack’s confession. It would save Jack some suffering. No. The bastard was going to explain everything. “I’ll punch you later. So, why did you--?" Brock prompted.

"Intervene? Choose you? Save your fucking life? I don't know. It was probably your ass. So tight." The flippant joke fell flat. Jack picked up the cigarette butt and tossed it in the can of sand. "I called in every favor I had. Made a few new debts. I'd sold my soul before, this was more of a mortgage." Jack sat beside Brock on the swing. “Didn’t you ever wonder why you've been on my squad this whole time? Why you haven't been promoted?"

Brock shrugged. “I’ve had offers. Didn't take them. Someone had to watch your stupid ass and choke down Murphy's potluck recipes. The Carter Prize winner gets to choose his own path.” 

"Uh huh. _Attachments_." 

" _Loyalties_. How long did you spy on me?"

“A week or so. You looked so vulnerable. Fragile. But you changed when you were with her. You—“ Jack paused. “You _trusted_ her. And I guess I wanted to have that for myself.”

“You watched me for a week and I didn’t notice.” Brock gripped his knees. “Seems like bullshit, because I would have noticed you. Hot guy checking me out? I would have noticed that.” 

“Remember I can be a real stealthy sonofabitch.” Jack blew a smoke ring. “This is harder than I thought it would be. Telling the truth.”

“Now why would that be? Out of fucking practice?” It came out more snide than Brock intended and Jack winced. 

“Because it makes me look like a complete asshole. Everything I did was out of— Okay at first, I just wanted you to myself. So I kinda,” he flicked his ash, “I kinda wrote to Jessica and told her we were together. Tried to chase her off. Didn’t work. She just wrote back asking for _details_ and Polaroids.” Jack snorted a laugh, “We got to be regular pen pals.”

“You kept her letters from me.”

“I did. But I did it for both of your sakes. Once her soul mark vanished, she became a target. And if anything happened to her, you’d rush off to her aid because, unlike myself, you believe in being the big damned hero.” He looked up at the sky ablaze with the setting sun. “There’s no room in SHIELD for big damned heroes anymore. Rogers is a liability now, a loose cannon. Everyone he’s close to will suffer. Suffer and regret knowing him. _Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.”_

“Yeah, it’s real pretty. Get back to the subject. Why is Jessica here now?” 

“When Rogers got defrosted, when Stark came out, when the Hulk did his thing and we’re not going to talk about that bastard Thor,” Jack leaned against the patio railing. “They sped up the timetable for a lot of dubious projects. All intended to protect the _American way of life_. The SHIELD brass says that a lot, don’t they? Repeat something often enough and it starts to sound like the truth. You’re learning a launch sequence for a top secret project right now, aren’t you? One you weren’t even supposed to talk to me about.” 

Brock could type in the codes blindfolded by now. “How did you?” Brock sighed, “You know everything, don’t you?” 

“I know enough. Enough to keep me alive, enough to take care of you, but too much to ever leave this life.” Jack stubbed out his cigarette and lit another one. “I want you to be happy. You’re smart enough to make it work. And I like her. You’re good for each other.” 

“You talk like you’re not going to be in the picture.” 

“I figured you’d leave me after this. A decade or so of lies and betrayals. I wouldn’t blame you. We’ve had some damn good times.” He grinned and the corners of his green eyes crinkled, “Starting with that gas station on Route 12…” 

__

Brock was a little buzzed. Just a little. He’d cracked open a bottle of Jack Daniels from the liquor cabinet and had decided to go get snacks from the gas station up the way. There was a sidewalk and Brock did his best to follow it. He was allowed to grieve in his own way. And right then, grief called for pork rinds. 

A loud bike cruised by him. The rumbling roar of the engine sent a little chill up Brock’s spine. The rider was _built_. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, thick thighs clad in leather chaps. Practical and oh so fucking _sexy_.

_Not now boner_. He made his way down to the gas station without incident, without falling on his face. There was a familiar looking motorcycle parked outside. _Everyone wanted pork rinds._

The rider came out of the store, flipped his visor down before Brock could see much of his face. But honestly, who cared about his face when he was built like one of Brock’s shameful wet dreams. 

The biker tilted his head and Brock looked away, he’d been staring. His cheeks flushed red. The biker went back into the store and quickly came out with the brick sized restroom keychain. He sauntered over to the restroom and Brock couldn’t help watching him walk, interesting muscles budged and shifted beneath his jeans. The biker lifted the visor a smidgen and _whistled_. A whistle of invitation. 

Brock blinked. _No way_. That guy did not just whistle at him. The biker crooked his finger in an unmistakable gesture of beckoning. _Oh._ Brock looked around, there were no witnesses. No one to intervene or condemn. The booze gave him courage, the recklessness came from somewhere dark and self-destructive. 

The biker held the door open for him and Brock went inside. A single bulb flickered overhead and Brock backed up against the sink. “What? What do I?” Brock asked, his shaky whisper loud in his ears. 

“Show me your dick.” The man’s voice was raw and distorted beneath the helmet. “We jerk off and leave. Cool?” 

Well, there was nothing gay about jerking off by itself and he wasn’t actually touching the other man. _Why can’t I touch you?_ So Brock nodded and unzipped his fly. He felt himself thicken under the man’s gaze. He could see his own reflection in the mirrored visor. Watching himself and the stranger at the same time. 

Brock did his best to put on a show, but it felt too electric, too viscerally thrilling to be doing something so taboo and he came on the restroom floor. “Now— you?” He panted and the biker unzipped his jeans. 

Brock watched in awe and wonder as the biker’s cock stiffened and he tried to memorize the way the stranger’s fingers worked, how they pulled out a groan from behind the helmet. He was watching so intently that he leaned over to get a closer look. He licked his lips and the stranger balled his other hand into a fist, as if stifling an urge. 

A spatter of cum caught Brock on the cheek before he jerked away. The stranger tucked himself away and Brock remembered that his own soft cock was still dangling out of his pants. He almost zipped himself as he fumbled. The stranger grabbed his chin and Brock held his breath as the biker smoothed the semen across his cheekbone with a thumb.

“Why did you pick me?” Brock panted out. What had made him stand out? Could other people see it, was his desire so naked and bold? The man’s hand was hot against his face and Brock wanted to feel it everywhere. 

 

Jack reached out, cupped Brock under his chin and ran his thumb over Brock’s cheekbone. “Because I didn’t have enough trouble in my life _._ ” He smiled with sweet fondness and Brock slapped his hand away. 

“You _bastard_.” Brock rubbed at his eyes, weary to the bone. “I should have known.” 

“Well to be fair, you were pretty blitzed and most dicks look alike. I don’t take it personally that you didn’t realize. You’re so damn clever all the time, make me feel good to put one over on you from time to time.” Jack stubbed out his cigarette and lit a new one. “We’ve had some good times. You and me. Good times.” He looked up at the twilight stars. “And don’t worry about having to explain this all to Jessica, she’s been listening at the patio door since you came out here. Hey Jess.” 

The door slid open all the way. “Hey Jack.” She sat on the porch swing beside Brock and he put his arm around her. Jack passed her his cigarette and she took it. They all rocked in silence for a while until Jessica pointed up. “Look, a shooting star. Make a wish.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack is a smooooooth talker. And gross. Just so gross.


	22. Chapter 22

Brock awoke to a full pot of hot coffee, a yellow sticky note on the refrigerator and an empty couch. He crumpled the note in his hand.

"What's going on?" Jessica asked as she headed straight for the coffee pot and poured a mug for herself.

"He's a coward." Brock threw the note into the garbage. "Staying at the motel up the street."

"I thought we'd decided to take things slow and get to know each other again." Jessica sat down at the table, she was wearing one of Jack's STRIKE t-shirts, her long legs bare. "It was his idea. There were porch swing snuggles, damn it." She cupped a ‘World’s Greatest Marksman’ mug in her hands.

"A strategic retreat to regroup and reassess, he called it. Fucking bullshit." 

"Seems like a Jack thing to do. All tight lipped about the important shit, covering up with a dirty joke." Jess looked up at him, "I never thought that he didn't talk to you about me though. Not in a million years. I thought that you had gotten tired of your old high school fake sweetheart after you fell for him. I didn't blame you, people grow up and grow apart." She laughed, brittle and thin. "I know Jack better than I know you now. Isn't that funny?" The coffee mug cracked in her hands.

Brock sat beside her after pouring her a new cup. After a while, he said, ”That's not funny. It's totally fucked up.”

"It is. It is. You know, he constantly fretted about you in his letters and phone calls. 'Brock this. Brock that. You're his world. You'd think you two were soul mates or something."

"We are not soul mates. Not like your parents, not even like mine were.” Brock smeared a drop of spilled coffee on the table with the tip of his finger, a stranger in his own home. ”I don't know what we are now." 

Jessica touched her throat, “People dream about finding their soul mates, I know I did. When my mark vanished, I thought that maybe that was fate telling me that we finally matched up. You never talked to me anymore, so I tried not to hope, not too much. I missed you so much." Her voice trembled and she laughed again. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles. "You know, he's lucky I didn't kick him through the fucking roof."

"I've had that urge myself. Jess, how can I stay with someone who has lied to me for so long? He keeps talking about these conspiracies, shadow organizations and the like, but how can I believe him about that now? They're much more likely just lies to justify him being a jealous, controlling possessive douchebag!" Brock slammed his hand down on the table and Jessica flinched. 

She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. “This shit is like motor oil. But I believe Jack. About that crazy government stuff. I've seen some shit out there Brock. Shit that can't be approved by the good guys. Like the truck of mystery goop that gave me my new gifts." Jessica bent a butter knife from the table in half with two fingers. "I was just minding my own business, taking photos for class. Blam! Toxic waste shower. I majored in Photography, did you know that?" Brock shook his head. "Jack bought me a camera after the accident, a really nice camera."

"I would have done something if I'd known, Jess. I’d have come for you. That camera was something for his guilty conscience. Or a bribe.“ 

Jessica shrugged with one shoulder. ”Or a really nice gift for a starving college student with a dream. After I dropped out because of my special new surprise powers, I used that camera to pay my bills. Boudoir shots. You know, for bored housewives who wanted to make their men horny. Even did some private investigator work. Then I let it slip in one of our weekly phone calls that I was going through a rough patch and Jack wired me three months' rent." Jessica snapped her fingers, "Just like that. He didn't have to do that." 

"I'm just saying, he's done a lot of shitty things but there's some good stuff in there too. So maybe don't kick him to the curb, maybe just kick him a _little_. In the ribs. Or the nuts." Her smile was pulled tight and thin.

Brock took her hand, “I’d forgotten how pragmatic you are."

"Oh come on, my favorite fake boyfriend." She flattened out the butter knife. "We can't stay starry-eyed forever. Besides, if you don't want him anymore and you don't want me," Tears began to well up and spill down her cheeks. “Then maybe he'll want me instead.”

"Oh Jess." Brock wanted to hold her, but she held him at arm’s length. “Jess. He got to you too? Didn't he?" The master manipulator. The king of liars. Luring lost moths to the flame. 

"Maybe a little." She wiped her nose on Jack’s t-shirt. “It's your fault I'm like this. Attracted to men who look like him. Men who look like you. Stupid men. Stupid me." She pushed the table away from her and it flew across the room. "Oh god damn it. Sorry, I forgot.”

Brock swallowed back his own sadness and took her into his arms. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He murmured into her hair, the litany comforting himself as much as her. “I’ve got you.” 

 

He was so fucking stupid. Stupid. _Stupid_.

Brock set down his phone. Website after website told him the same things. Words like gaslighting, grooming and abuse kept popping up. He read about other people's woes that were disturbingly similar to his. Well, minus the missing soul marks, tales of shadow governments and accidental superpowers. 

All the years they'd spent together, he'd thought that Jack genuinely cared for him. It was a farce. And he was doing the same thing to Jessica, the whole time. The thought of Jessica getting hurt because of _him,_ because his caring for her and making her vulnerable to Jack’s manipulations, made his gorge rise. Brock grabbed the wastepaper basket and retched in it.

"Hey," Murphy said from across the break room, "Are you feeling okay?" Jack had taken a special interest in Murphy, made sure to include him in all team activities. Even ate his disgusting vegan recipes at holiday gatherings. Jack was as close to a parent or a soul mate as Murphy had. Brock wanted to throw up again. 

"Morning sickness. Pregnancy can be a bitch." Ramirez quipped. He was new. Dark hair and light brown eyes. Another recruit handpicked by Jack. Was Jack fucking him too? Or just fucking with his head?

"Really. Are you okay?" Murphy brought Brock a cup of water. He took it and tried to rinse the bitter bile out of his mouth.

"No, Murph. I'm not okay."

Murphy patted his shoulder and said with sincerity, ”It's okay to not be okay. Every day brings us a little closer to being okay."

"Thanks Murph." Brock rubbed his face.

Ramirez slid Brock a cookie on a paper plate. ”Sorry about being an asshole. Here. Try some carbs. My _abuela_ made them."

"Thanks." He took a bite and it tasted like ashes and cardboard. "She's a talented lady." Ramirez puffed up with pride.

"Come on. You always feel better after sparring. Most people don't really enjoy getting punched in the face, but you're all smiles afterwards. Weirdo." Murphy lightly punched him in the shoulder and Brock faked a smile. _Weirdo._

 

Jack was there. In the ring. Brock put on his gloves and walked past the waiting trainees. Everything disappeared except for Jack in the ring, tunnel-vision. Laser sharp focus. Sweat trickled down Jack's brow and he wordlessly took his stance. Brock stared into his green eyes and remembered...

 

"Come on. Drink it." Jack pressed a squeeze bottle of sweet-vile electrolyte drink to Brock's chapped, sore lips.

"No." Brock turned his head away. It was his third day of the Martian Death Flu. It had torn through the dormitory like wildfire and all classes had been cancelled. Brock coughed into his pillow. "Leave me alone to die."

"You're dehydrated. Drink it or I'll call Rosie down here to give you IV fluids." Jack poked Brock in the ribs. "Old Iron Hands Rosie. Couldn't find a vein with a road map and a compass.” Brock hated needles, he cracked his lips open and Jack held the bottle as he suckled at it.

"Don't look at me." Brock moaned.

Jack combed back Brock's sweat-drenched hair and kissed his forehead, far too tender for Brock's comfort. "Can't help it. You're the prettiest little plague victim ever." They'd been seeing each other in secret for a year, stealing kisses in supply closets and having sleepovers at shady motels. Murphy knew, but Murphy wouldn't say anything. For some reason, after their initial meeting it was forbidden for it to look like Jack was intimate with him. It was risky for Jack to be in Brock's room, but there were so many sick recruits that any help was welcomed. Brock wasn't sick enough for the infirmary. _Dear god, how much sicker could he get?_

"Liar." Brock sniffled. "You're going to get sick too."

Jack made him take another drink. "Well then, you'll have to nurse me back to health. That's what you do when you're in a relationship."

Brock choked on his drink, started to cough and when he'd finished wheezing, looked up at Jack with fever-hazed eyes and asked, "Are you my _secret_ boyfriend?"

Jack smiled. "Probably." Brock's face crumpled and Jack patted his face. "Yes, you silly boy."

"So you like me?" Brock whined, snot running down his face.

Jack handed him a tissue and waggled the bottle at him. "I more than like you. Drink it."

"It's gross." Brock flipped Jack off with a trembling finger and with all the bravado he could muster said, "Make me." Brock spoiled the effect with his coughing and Jack tucked the blankets around him, effectively pinning Brock to the bed.  

He mumbled in delirium as Jack made him swallow some liquid fever reducer. "You-- you need a motorcycle. You'd look good on a bike. You said you had a bike once. Why haven't you fucked me over your bike?" He choked down the rest of the bottle and murmured, "When is Mom going to come home?" Jack didn't answer and Brock drifted off to sleep.

 

Brock's fist smashed into Jack's face. He felt Jack's nose crumple under the blow.

 

Cancun. Brilliant blue skies above the sea. Jack and Brock stood on the edge of a popular diving cliff. They'd been drinking. It was vacation, you were supposed to be drunk, sunburnt and giddy. "I dare you to jump in." Brock clucked like a chicken and flapped his arms. "I double dog dare you."

Jack bent his knees, swung his arms and whooped, "Okay! On three. One... two..." He lunged to the side, grabbed Brock by the back of his shirt and flung Brock over the edge.

"Baaaaaaaastard!" Brock screamed on his way down.

 

Jack wasn't blocking punches. Brock didn't care. Blood spattered on the mat.

 

"Look at you. Look at you." Jack cooed. He ran his hand over the pattern of red hemp ropes and Brock's olive skin. Brock shivered under his touch. He was trussed up, suspended from a bolt in the ceiling of the playroom of an exclusive club. His legs were splayed apart, only his toes touched the floor. The ropes held him upright, cradled him in their strapping embrace.

"Do you understand how gorgeous you are?" Brock shook his head, unable to speak. He was overwhelmed with both anticipation of what was to come and the glorious sensations of being bound. "Well, I'll tell you every damn day for the rest of your life until you understand, my boy."

Jack tucked a small metal bell in Brock's hand.  "Now, drop the bell if you want to stop. Nod if you agree." Brock nodded and opened his mouth for the gag. Jack slid his thumb over Brock's tongue before he placed the mouthpiece. Brock felt like a work of art, a thing to be admired and displayed. He'd never felt so alive. Jack looked so proud of him. 

Then he turned and opened the door. "Come on in, guys. We're ready to play." The men who entered were wearing black leather half masks and smug smiles. Brock closed his eyes and listened for Jack's commands.

 

Jack sank down to one knee. Brock kicked him in the ribs. Jack spat blood on the canvas. Brock kicked him again.

 

Murphy was safe. Bleeding, but safe. 

Jack was ashen, his lips blue-tinged. Brock applied a field dressing as the sound of mortars exploded around him. A chant, a litany, a string of prayers fell from his lips. "Don't you die on me! Don't you die on me! Don't you die on me! Don't you die on me! We've got a car payment you asshole! You're not leaving me alone! Don't leave me alone! You can't leave me alone!" His face was wet and Jack finally opened his eyes. “I can’t lose you. I can’t live without you! Stay with me!” 

 

Jack was on the canvas. His face was a brutal, bloody mass. Brock pulled back his shoulder, ready to end all of it. All the lies. ALL OF IT—-

Impossibly strong hands ripped him away from Jack. ”Stand down Rumlow!" Steve cried out. Brock fought to get away, even sinking his teeth into Captain America’s forearm. 

"Ffffuck offff Rogers." Jack spat from the canvas. 

"Rollins, you’re—“ Steve stammered. 

Jack howled out like a wounded animal, “FUCK OFF! You know nothing about love!" Brock went still and stopped thrashing in Steve’s arms. Jack held up his hand to Brock, his face mangled into meat by Brock’s blows. 

Brock stood over him. “You never loved me.” He climbed out of the ring.Walked past his shocked team-mates and trainees, his lightweight sparring gloves dripping blood down the hallway to Human Resources. He’d broken his hand, but the pain was numb and distant. 

The secretary looked up at him in horror. He saw his red splattered face reflected in her chrome paperweight. 

“Rumlow, Brock. STRIKE Team Alpha. Requesting immediate leave of absence.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? *oh so nervous author chews off her nails!*


	23. Chapter 23

 

If you beat the shit out of your commanding officer and bit Captain America in front of dozens of witnesses you got fired. Jack and Steve had both declined to press charges against him, which was the only reason Brock wasn't wearing currently wearing handcuffs. 

Brock Rumlow was officially out of SHIELD.

He stared down at his termination papers, numb. His right hand was splinted, it itched underneath the brace. Jessica sat beside him on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chin.

His voice sounded flat, drained to his ears. “The worst part wasn’t getting fired, it was just a job. I was good at it, but it was just a job.” He paused and rubbed his stubbled jaw, “The worst part was that I was going to kill him, Jess. I was going to kill him with my bare hands." _For what he did to you. For what he did to me._

"No, you weren't." She shook her head in disbelief and chewed on her thumbnail. "You wouldn't do that."

“You don’t know me anymore. I was going to kill him.” He tossed the papers on the coffee table. “I destroyed his face, Jess. Fractured his skull. He has to have reconstructive surgery to repair his teeth. He’s been in the hospital for a week. They won’t let me visit him.” What would he say? He’d said everything with his fists. “I’ve never been that angry in my life, I was going to kill him. I've killed people before Jess. This time was different."

"But you didn't kill him. You didn’t.” Her faith in him was naive.

"Only because Rogers stopped me. That's the only reason." He looked down at his hands, capable of so much violence. So much pain. He was going to change the world with those hands, but he'd only managed to destroy— 

He slumped against the couch, defeated. "I seriously messed up. Jess, you might not want to be with me--"

Jessica leaned her head back on the couch and brushed his hair back from his forehead. " _Idiot_. I think I can handle myself just fine. We need to get out of here. Give you some time to think. Have you ever seen Niagara Falls? Mount Rushmore? The Grand Canyon? I'm thinking road trip."

Brock murmured, "Buy a Winnebago. Fuck in in all fifty states."

"What?" 

"Never mind. Okay, load up your stuff. I'll pack a bag." He sat up. "I'll write him a note and put it in the fire safe."

"I'll document our travels. A photographic journey. You can be my model. You always were too pretty to be true." Jessica cupped the side of his face with her hand. Her tenderness made his chest seize up. 

"You were my first love and I've never given up on you. You're worth the hassle." He pressed her hand against his cheek, leaned into her touch with a heavy sigh. "Time has been so kind to you Brock. You look better now than you did when you were in high school."

"We all look better now. Remember your perm?" He twirled a lock of her hair around the tip of his finger.

"Do I ever! It took forever to grow that shit out." She smiled at him with infinite patience and sweetness. Brock felt a flicker of hope. "This whole situation is like a bad perm. You think it looks good, you spend so much time and effort on it and then you look back at your photos and say, _what the fuck was I thinking_?"

 

The tire popped on their rental. Brock groaned, it was going to be murder on his hand to change out the spare. “Just my luck.” 

“Good thing you’ve got me with you.” Jessica said. 

“Why? Do you know how to change a tire?” 

Jessica snorted, “You don’t need a lug wrench with me around.” She lifted up the side of the car with one hand and yawned with the other. “Or a jack.” 

“I’m still using one,” Brock popped the trunk. “Unless you want passersby taking photos of you doing that.” He whistled at her. “I have to admit, that’s pretty hot.” 

“You still like ladies who can push you around a little?” She set down the car as Brock positioned the jack. “Scoot.” She took over and Brock watched her. 

“Yeah. I do. Not sure why, but you had me pegged all those years ago.” 

Jessica almost dropped the lug nuts. “Interesting choice of words.”

Brock laughed. “Yes, yes it was.” He hadn’t laughed for several days. “What are we going to do after this Jess?” 

"You could start a gym. Be one of those trainer guys yelling motivational slogans and wearing too tiny shirts. You’ve got the biceps for it.” 

"Maybe.”

"Start a blog. Learn how to draw. Take up fishing." Jessica finished tightening the nuts with her bare fingers and let the jack lower.

"I'm unemployed, not sixty-five, Jessica." He put away the tools and they got back into the car. 

Miles of asphalt disappeared behind them, the horizon gleamed gold with the setting sun. They listened to the radio in silence until the station fuzzed out of range. Jessica dozed against the window and Brock tried to avoid drowning in his memories. 

When Jessica finally spoke it startled Brock. “Jenny is pregnant. I'm going to be an aunt."

"No shit?"

"She married that kid with the red glasses who ate the paste in kindergarten."

"Mmm. Minty." Brock smacked his lips. 

"You didn't." Jessica said in horror. 

Brock changed lanes. “I did. Just once." He held up a finger. 

Jessica made a face and a gagging sound. “That's disgusting. I don't think I can kiss you anymore now that I know that."

He shrugged, “We all do stupid things when we're young."

"I did _you_ , so yeah, point taken." Jessica turned down the air conditioning and then asked,  "What did you write on that note you left Jack?"

“Going on a long road trip. Don't sell my shit." He pointed at a sign on the roadside.  “Waffle House?"

"Please."

 

It wasn’t Niagara Falls, but the small waterfall they found was beautiful in the early afternoon sun. Light dappled the leaves and Brock inhaled the clean mountain air. "I'm never going to get answers from him. Am I?" 

Jessica clicked her shutter. “None that you're going to trust. Turn your head to the right. There you go." Brock obeyed. "You're made for the camera. It loves you.“

Brock sighed,  ”I’m glad something does." It had been two weeks since he had left his home, his job and Jack behind. 

She buzzed her lips in irritation. “You have permission to wallow for a while Brock, then I'll have to pry your head out of your own ass."

"Why aren't you more bothered? He fucked you over too.” 

"Jack isn't the first man who has done me wrong. I've had practice dealing with it."

"Uh huh." Brock threw a stone into the water. “Seems like there’s a lot to unpack there.” 

"Whatever. I just hit things. And it's very satisfying to commit property damage. Really expensive to get a car out of a tree. And no one ever suspects a thing." She grinned and threw a rock completely through a tree trunk. "Especially if you hit a car with a tree."

Brock’s eyes grew wide. “I’m suddenly afraid of what might happen when you touch my dick.” 

“Snap it right off inside of me.” She snapped a picture of him. “That’s the Brock I remember. Inexplicably turned on.” 

 

The motel room bed had Magic Fingers. Brock put some quarters on the bedside table. He popped one in the machine and the ancient motor began to rumble and vibrate beneath him. “OooOoooooh yeah.” He stretched out in his boxers and looked at the stains on the ceiling. It was like low rent star-gazing.

“You enjoying yourself over there?” Jessica called from the bathroom, brushing her teeth.

“One of the small pleasures of life. Just hope it doesn’t catch fire.” 

She spat into the sink and rinsed the toothpaste foam down. “Sure hope not. I have plans for that bed.”

“Feels better than the sleeping bags.” Brock closed his eyes and let the vibrations rattle his teeth. “Might be able to get a full eight hours of sleep.”

“Sleep wasn’t at the top of my agenda.” 

Brock cracked open his eyes, she was standing over him, clad in only a towel. He swallowed hard. “You— you don’t have to— if you don’t want—“ The towel fell to the floor. 

Jessica straddled him and claimed his lips with a minty kiss. She pinned his wrists over his head and he melted into relaxation that had nothing to do with the vibrating bed. ”I don't need ropes to pin you down." Her strength was mind-boggling, freeing. She would never hurt him, unless he asked her to. The trust was nearly as intoxicating as the feeling of her shower-damp skin against his bare chest. 

"Remember this? Remember how good it felt?" Jessica crooned into his ear. 

"Never forgot. Couldn't. You marked me, remember?" Brock tilted back his head to expose his throat.

"I did, right here." Jessica kissed the exact spot. “Are you ready for this?” She rubbed her body against his, her breasts soft next to his hardened muscles. His cock strained against the fabric of his shorts. He jabbed his hips up so she could feel his arousal. 

"If I turn you down, Jessica, you'd better check me for a pulse."

 

“’Ladies' night. Best Abs Contest'. Oh we are so going in." Jessica pulled the car over into the packed parking lot of a roadside bar. The sign was lit up with glitter and Christmas tree lights. She took the keys and stuck them in her bra. 

"Oh come on Jess. Like I’m afraid to go in after those.“ Brock protested as she pulled him out of the car. 

"Brock Rumlow, you are not weaseling out of a wet t-shirt contest. You've got this in the bag. Come on, let's be young and stupid. In a fun way." Jessica laughed, “I’ll carry you if I need to.” 

Brock sighed and covered his face with his broken hand. ”I’m going to need a lot of tequila."

"Got you covered, babe." Jessica pushed open the door and announced, "I've got a contestant!"

Everyone in the bar was huddled around a television set. Jessica and Brock walked closer, tried to get a glimpse of what was on the screen. 

_BREAKING NEWS. WASHINGTON DC._

"Holy shit. That's--" Jessica gasped. 

_Home._ The Triskelion was on fire, three massive helicarriers were plunging into the Potomac river. _Project Insight_. Brock grabbed Jessica’s hand and ran out to their car.  "We have to go back."

 

It took fifteen hours of driving over the speed-limit before Brock and Jessica arrived at the townhouse. Jack’s car was in the garage, but his motorcycle was gone. The carpets were clean, there was nothing in the refrigerator, the bed was made with crisp hospital corners. 

There was a letter in the fire safe next to the deed to the townhouse, old family photos and random important documents. Brock broke the seal with trembling fingers, Jessica beside him.

 

Dear Brock,

If you're reading this I've gone and done something really stupid. Not my normal brand of stupid either. Not like the time I tried to refinish the garage floor and painted myself into a corner for six hours. Or that time I ate that street meat in Bolivia. No, this will probably be the mother of all stupid decisions, one that will change the world.

 

You've probably figured out by now I was a member of HYDRA. Hand picked by Alexander Pierce to be his cabana boy, if you can believe that. But I didn't stay with him. Probably why the bastard wanted to get you in his grasp so badly, just to stick it to me. Bad break up. I excel at bad break ups. But I digress.

 

I joined up because I wanted to change the world, but I also wanted to punish the world a little for all my bad breaks. It was easy to get sucked in, impossible to get out. So I played the game, made myself indispensable. You were my reward for being a good little HYDRA snake. I wasn't expecting to actually fall in love with you and your fluffy hair. Didn't think I was capable of that. Not after the belt sander incident. My bed is very cold right now.

 

You were on the INSIGHT hit list. Those bastards had you learn the launch codes for your own execution. The Carter Prize sealed your fate. If you hadn't saved me then you wouldn't have been a target. But I do like breathing, so thanks for that. I couldn't let them kill you. I've worked too hard on you.

 

I kept her safe. They don't know about her. Tell her I'm sorry, I really like her. I would have shared you with her. Taught her about those rope tricks you like so much.

 

In the end, I kept trying to push you away, away from SHIELD, away from HYDRA. But you're a stubborn jerk and you don't take hints. Maybe that's my fault. Maybe I trained you too well. I hope you don't hate me, but if you're  alive, well then I'll deal with it. Go ahead and hate me. 

I sold my soul a long time ago, but you were too dear a price to pay.

I stole about 500K from one of those warlords about five years back. It's buried under the deck, under the porch swing. Make a new life. Maybe come find me if you're in the mood. I'll be waiting right around where we first met because I'm sentimental like that.

 

If the carriers launched, that means I failed and we're all dead anyway. Hope the Star Spangled Asshole knows what he's doing.

 

Jack

I've got your name carved into my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My oh my.... What do you think? /anxious author.


	24. Chapter 24

 

"You look good." Jessica straightened his tie and gave Brock a final brushing with a lint roller. "You sure you want to do this?"

Brock nodded. "They were my team, just as much as his. I owe them my life. Many times over." It had taken several months to identify the dead and missing from the chaos and destruction. Jack was listed as _Missing in Action, presumed Dead_ , based on the eyewitness testimony of Steve Rogers. Maybe it was better that way. 

After the bodies had been counted, investigators had combed over Romanov's data dump to identify the traitors and collaborators. Brock had poured over the documents as well, there weren't any mentions of his name other than the death orders on INSIGHT. He was clean, but his career was forever tainted by the stigma of STRIKE and HYDRA.

She fussed over him and he caught her hand in his. Memories of Jack were starting to be overwritten with new experiences with Jessica. Was this what healing felt like? Like soft touches, easy humor and complete trust. "Call me if you need me to come get you. I'll fly over."

Brock raised his brows and smiled. "Not literally. right?"

"Depends on how fast you need me." Jessica kissed his cheek and he embraced her. She smelled of his shampoo and a hint of tobacco from the cigarettes she'd sneak in the back yard when she was stressed. The coffee can of sand next to the porch swing was filled with butts.

He murmured into her hair, "I need you for the rest of my life."

"Oh." She wiped her eyes and pushed him away, patted at his chest. "Wow. You shouldn't say that to a girl. I'll hold you to it."

He got down on one knee and Jessica clapped her hand to her mouth, "Jessica Jones, will you be my wife?"

"Oh god! Oh my god!" Jessica squeaked, she bounced on her toes and then grew serious, "You're not fucking with me? Are you?" Brock shook his head. "I'm not changing my name, you got that?"

"I love you just the way you are, Jessica Jones. Always have."

"Yes. Yes!" She threw her arms around him and he gurgled. She released him and he pulled in a ragged breath. "Oh I'm so sorry! Don't know my own strength sometimes. And I wrinkled your suit."

"Small price to pay to see that smile." He turned to leave and as he opened the door. "You know, if you're Mrs. Jones, what will I call your mother?"

"I'll ask her." Jessica pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She beamed at him, "You're my soul mate, Brock."

He kissed her, soft and tender and said against her lips, “And you’re mine.”

 

It was a group memorial service. Brock forced himself to look at the grieving faces of the STRIKE families. This was his responsibility. He knew so many of them from Christmas parties, picnics and photos on cubicle walls. If only he'd been more aware, maybe he could have stopped this madness. Ramirez's grandmother laid flowers at the marble stone. She touched the inscription and said a prayer. She looked up and caught his gaze, then marched over to him. "You," she said. "I know your face."

"This won't bring him back, but you need to know," Brock took a breath. "Ramirez was an excellent agent. Smart, dedicated and strong. He was a hero." She blinked at his pretty words, not convinced. Brock continued, "He was very proud of your baking too. He shared your cookies with all of us. I will miss him very much."

"So will I. So will I." Her face crumpled in grief and Brock took her hand. A bonded soul mark creased her palm. "They insinuated that he was a traitor. That he--"

"I know who the traitors were and your grandson was not one of them. I wish that I could have stopped all of this."

"You're not Captain America, I'm sure you did your best." She patted him on the arm and walked away.

Brock stayed at the memorial until the sun began to set. When there was no one else to hear him he spoke. "Murphy. Ramirez. Anders. Mercer. Johnston. I was honored to have been with you. Your lives were no less valuable than mine. If I see Jack, I'll kick him in the balls for all of you."

"Rumlow. You might do more than that." A voice in the shadows. Brock assumed a instinctual defensive stance. It was Rogers. 

"Well if it isn't the Star Spangled Asshole himself." Rumlow stared at the memorial. "Wasn't expecting to find you here."

"I respected STRIKE. We worked well together." 

"You-- you killed them all." Rumlow's hands balled up into fists of impotent anger. INSIGHT was horrible, it was wrong, but there had to be another way. There had to be. "They were the closest thing I had to family and you killed them." His voice cracked. "How dare you come here."

"I didn't kill your team. Jack Rollins did." Brock's mouth fell open and before Steve could elaborate Brock launched himself at Captain America. Steve caught him in mid-air and slammed Brock down upon the memorial dirt. Brock gasped for air, the wind knocked out of him. "My team had been captured and Jack helped us escape from the motorcade taking us to our execution. He opened up the truck, took off our cuffs and let us go.” 

Brock shook his head in disbelief. “That can’t be true—“ 

Steve’s cold blue eyes narrowed. “He had shot everyone in that convoy in the head. One after the other. Silencer.” Brock’s world spun around him as he laid in the dirt. “He said ‘I’d kill every last one of you if it kept Brock Rumlow safe.’” Brock retched on the ground, Steve waited for him to finish heaving. “Then he gave us the launch schedule, clearance codes and a list of all the HYDRA operatives that he personally knew. He stole one of Widow’s face meshes and I never saw him again.”

“Why? Why would you tell me this?” Brock whimpered, “Do you want to hurt me too?” 

Steve extended his hand. “No. I’m grateful for Rollins’ help, but I think that I probably should have let you finish what you started in the ring.”

“He wasn’t at the Triskelion?” Brock’s hand shook as he took Steve’s. Steve assisted him, far more gently than was needed. Brock’s black funeral suit was caked in red clay. Pieces flaked off as he stood.

“No. He’s very good at disappearing. Better than some ghosts I know." Steve touched his ember of a soul mark, "Promise me something, Brock, promise me that you won’t go looking for him. I understand obsession, I’m prone to it. It gives me focus and clarity, a reason to go on in this world I just don’t belong in. So believe me when I tell you this,” Steve took Brock’s shoulder, squeezed it for emphasis. “He’s not good for you. He’s _poison_.” 

Brock nodded and Steve turned to the memorial. He saluted it and mouthed a prayer. Then the man who had burnt SHIELD to the ground to flush out the vipers that lurked within it, walked away into the dusk. 

Brock fumbled out his cell phone, tears ran down his face and made his nose drip. He wiped his eyes, red clay dust smeared upon his face. Red like the blood on his hands. _They were all dead, because of him._ What would stop Jack from hurting anyone else who got in his way? _Nothing. No one._

He’d just proposed to Jessica. 

_FUCK._

“Jess? We have to leave town. We have to go now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an 80's Dramatic Thriller AU now...


	25. Chapter 25

 

"Breathe, Brock, breathe." Jessica brushed back his hair with her fingers. He had just spewed everything he had learned without pause for breath or clarification in their car. It was overwhelming, the grief and the madness. He choked back a sob and nodded. 

”Now, listen to me. I don't think we have to go anywhere that we don't want to. We don’t have to run away.“ Jessica continued, too calm for the urgency of the situation.

"But—Steve said--!" He began and she hushed him. 

She continued to pet his hair, “In his goodbye letter to you he said that he liked me. That he'd share you with me. Why would he hurt me after that? He doesn't know we're engaged."

"He probably does. That place is probably bugged from floor to ceiling." His home, _no,_ it was never his home. It was a comfortable cage made of deception and lies.

"Now that's a decent reason to move. Jack was a tough talker and he did not like Steve Rogers, not one bit. So maybe he was grandstanding?"

Brock pleaded with her, “He murdered his whole team. MY team. You just don’t understand. We can’t be sure he’s dead.“

"He's dangerous, I know that. He told us to make a new life. Let's do that. Forget all this bullshit and make each other happy."

"It's not that simple, Jessica. I've got so much blood on my hands." Brock cradled his head in his red clay-stained hands. “So many lives.” 

"Did you pull the trigger?" 

"No."

She grabbed his shoulder. “Then you _don't_. You weren't even in the same state when that happened. You were a _good_ agent, Brock. HYDRA wanted to murder you because they knew you were a good agent. You were fucking Jack, you weren’t plotting murder and treason! Stop trying to make this all your fault!" 

"I'm not! God damn it Jessica!“

"Really? I bet you still think that you're responsible for your parents' deaths.” Brock flinched. "Yeah, I thought so." She gave him a little shake that rattled his teeth. ”Brock. Your shoulders aren't wide enough to carry all these ghosts. We'll move. Have a garage sale. Get a shitty apartment on the other side of town. But not because we're afraid of Jack. Because we're making a fresh start."

Brock let out a deep sigh. He couldn’t bring anyone back from the dead. “I should rent a storage locker for his stuff. Just in case. If I sold off his Beanie Babies collection, he'd kill me."

Jessica furrowed her brow. ”Beanie Babies? You're fucking with me." 

"Nope. They're in alphabetical order in plastic totes in the garage." Brock flicked a bit of clay off his suit pants. “An _investment_ , he called them."

Jessica stared out into the darkness. “That's just so wrong on so many levels.” She shuddered. “Beanie Babies?”

 

 

How long had it been since Brock had gotten on that bus to Washington DC? It seemed like forever and at the same time, just yesterday. Brock blinked back the memory of being with Jack for the first time in the Guest Room. The tenderness of his touches. How he could coax ecstasy from Brock’s skin. _Was all of it bad?_ Sometimes Brock would hear Jack’s voice calling him to dinner, telling him to get on his knees, whispering that he was a _good boy…_

“I said, pull the fuck over!” Jessica howled and as Brock pulled onto the shoulder, she flung the door open and retched into the bushes. 

Brock got out of the car and cautiously called, “You okay over there honey?” He got a bottle of water from the trunk, sheepish. 

"I'm fucking _fine_. Obviously! Just car sick." She took the water from him and rinsed out her mouth. “Gross. I hate that taste.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You almost ripped the door handle off, darling.”

She shot him an accusatory look. “Well, the next time I tell you to pull the car over _sweetheart_ , maybe you'll listen to me instead of daydreaming about god knows what!” She took a drink and sighed. “That wasn’t fair of me. Sorry. I’ve— I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.” 

"Are you sure you're not coming down with something? Should we cancel? We don't want to get the twins sick. Jenny would understand if we needed to reschedule.” 

Jessica buzzed her lips. “Yeah. I'm not contagious."

"You sure?" Brock hazarded a comforting rub on the small of her back. 

She didn’t meet his eyes and took another swig. “Pretty fucking positive."

 

Jenny had moved in with her parents and one year old twins after her divorce. The paste eater had decided that he didn’t want to be a father after all. Brock hoisted their bags onto his shoulders out of habit, Jessica huffed at him in irritation. “Yes, I know you can bench press a Mack truck but please let me do this. For the sake of my poor masculinity.”

“I picked out your shirt to fully display your masculinity.” Jessica replied and plucked at the spandex. “ _Smedium_.” 

“Yes, ha ha. You’re too droll.” He rang the door bell. 

Jenny flung open the door, there was a pacifier on a cord around her neck and her blonde ponytail was lopsided. She looked very much like the kid sister who had demanded that he eat her portion of lasagna all those years ago. Wide eyes rimmed with dark circles. She flung her arms around him. ”Brock!" Jenny hugged him tight and then let her hands _wander._ She squeezed and sighed in awe, “You're so--- _built_! And you smell good too.“

Jessica walked past them into the house. ”Nice to see you too, Jenny. Be sure to get two good, healthy handfuls of my husband’s ass there.“

Jenny nodded as if that wasn’t sarcasm. “Are these muscles or rocks in your pants?” Brock looked at Jessica, helpless with his arms full of luggage. 

"He's a professional meathead now. Personal trainer to the stars. My idea, of course." It had been a good idea after all. It paid the bills and let Jessica concentrate on her photography business. Working aspiring actors to the bone was quite satisfying and he did enjoy the results. Every now and then he’d get to show off the skills he’d learned in SHIELD specialist training to shut up a mouthy gym rat. That was especially satisfying. 

He took one step across the threshold and Jenny moved with him, her head cradled on his chest. “How much can you lift?"

"Not as much as your sister." That made Jessica smile. 

Jenny yawned, “Can you still carry me to my bed?" She finally let go of him and stumbled over a baby toy on the floor. Jessica caught her and Jenny looked up at her sister with grateful eyes. "Sorry, sorry. I haven't really been getting a lot of sleep lately. Hey! Do you really want to do me a favor?"

"Of course." Jessica said.

Jenny pointed over in the corner of the living room. “That's called a _stroller_. Load up my darlings and take them on a really, really, _really_ long walk so Mommy can have a nap and avoid an inevitable nervous breakdown. Please. Please. _Please_." Jenny clung to her sister and grabbed a fistful of her shirt.

“Jenny. You're scaring me."

Jenny lowered her voice and said, darkly, “You _should_ be scared. This will be your life soon enough. Oh my god, I just want some vodka and a nap!”

“Should be?” Brock asked, clearly missing something between the sisters. 

Jessica shook her head. ”Ignore her. She's loopy. Even for Jenny.”

Brock set down their bags and walked over to the strollers. They seemed simple enough. He could still field strip a rifle in the dark or defuse an IMD, babies couldn’t be _that_ much harder. “So this visit is going to be a week long babysitting gig?“

"IT IS A HUMANITARIAN MISSION." Jenny shrieked and Jessica hauled her sister up over her shoulder. 

Brock stood at attention and saluted with a smile. “Yes ma'am!”

Jenny melted into Jessica’s grasp. ”Oh my god. You are so _hawt_. Jessica, you're so lucky." She looked him up and down with lust-tinged, sleep-deprived regret. “I had mom make _lasagna_ for tonight, just for you.” As Jessica hauled her away Jenny said to Brock, “You can have all of mine. I still _hate_ lasagna!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For such a clever boy, Brock's pretty clueless.


	26. Chapter 26

Brock lifted the little girl into the stroller and booped her snub nose. She gurgled happily. "And your name is Zelda." He adjusted the straps and repeated the action with her brother. "Pleasure to meet you, Link.” He put his hands on his hips and gestured at the twins. “This is what happens when nerds reproduce. You are both going to have a hell of a time in elementary school."

Jessica hoisted the diaper bag, “Unique names aren't bad. Try being one of a herd of Jessicas."

"But you could always find your name in the gift shop. There was never a Brock mini license plate or coffee mug." Brock sighed.

"I could make one for you. They have those options now."

"See, that's not the same as finding one out in the wild."

"Honestly, I think these kids have a better chance of finding their names on stuff than you ever did. Ready to brave the great outdoors and give your mother a chance to reformat her brain?“ Jessica asked the twins, “It’s a very important mission.” Brock saluted at her and she smiled at him as if she wanted to ask him something. 

“What’s up, Jess?” 

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. The old town has changed a lot since you were here last. We should do a full tour.”

“It hasn’t changed that much if we can do that on foot in a single afternoon. It does smell the same though. Weird.” Brock rubbed at his nose. 

“I think that’s just my mom’s house. She hasn’t changed anything since Dad passed.” Jessica opened the door. “And don’t do that thing where you apologize for not being there for me because that’s your _thing_ and I know better, okay?” She pointed at him before the words of apology could come out.

“Okay.” Brock pushed the stroller out onto the porch. “Um, we forgot about the front steps. A little help?” 

Jessica lifted the stroller with one hand while digging in the diaper bag for her keys, she walked down the steps and set the twins down. “There we go!” Her bright smile chased away a few more shadows that lingered within him. They hadn’t heard from Jack or seen anything that would indicate he was alive in almost a year. _Three hundred and twenty-five days._ “Come on, Brock!”

 

The twins liked the fresh air on their faces and made a running commentary of baby babble noises. Jessica walked beside the stroller because Brock insisted on pushing. She waved at a neighbor who might have been in school with them, but Brock couldn’t quite place her face. “Hey Natalie! This is my husband, _Brock.”_ The woman dropped her garden hose at the sight of Jessica clinging to Brock’s biceps and they continued on their stroll.

“What was that about?” Brock asked. 

Jessica smirked. “Natalie always had a huge crush on you, did you know that? Called me a bunch of names when we started fake dating.”

“Ah. Rubbing it in?” 

“I’m petty like that.”

Brock raised an eyebrow. “Well she should have spoken up, nothing ventured— Ow.” Jessica poked him in the ribs. “You’re so possessive, Jess.”

“I’ve worked too hard on you.” For a moment, Brock heard her words in Jack’s voice, then the sunshine and birdsong wiped it away. Jessica hooked her thumbs in her jeans’ pockets. She gazed out at the horizon. “If you had a kid, _hypothetically,_ of course,"

"Of course."

"What would you name it?"

Brock ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought. “Boy or girl?"

Jessica shrugged. ”Both.”

"I really don't know. Never really thought about having kids. Never really thought about having a dog either." 

Jessica stopped and her tone was deadly serious. ”What the hell does that mean?"

Brock kept walking, the babies did not like sudden stops. ”I had a very dangerous job, Jess. It didn't seem right to have either pets or kids if there was a thirty percent chance I wasn't going to make it back from a mission. Sometimes more than thirty percent.”

She caught up to them with a few steps. “Well, what about _now_? There's a lot better odds that you'll choke on a kale smoothie than take a bullet now."

Brock made a fist and curled his arm to show off his muscles. “I have to eat clean to maximize my definition Jessica-- That was insufferable, wasn't it?" 

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Uh huh."

“I swear I pick it up at the gym. All these guys have discovered protein like it’s a new religion. The dude bro lifestyle is very easy to slip into. Like a sweaty muscle tee. I like the name Isaac. Izzy for a girl?"

"So, kids aren't a dealbreaker for you? That's good."

“I feel that we should have had this conversation before getting married, Jess. Nah. You're looking at the STRIKE company function babysitter. It was more fun to entertain the small fry than to make small talk. I like kids. They don't have soul marks either." 

Brock was quiet as he remembered making blanket forts and leading stealth missions to raid the cookie platters at the Christmas party. ”Just thinking about how many of those kids are probably missing their parents now. It's rough, you know? Not having family to love on you. Probably made me an easy mark." Brock squared his shoulders and pointed at Link. "Well, don't you worry little dude, old Uncle Brock won't let that happen to you. You too, Zelda sweetie. I'll sit on the porch looking scary when your date picks you up for prom."

"I didn't go to prom." Jessica said, a wistful tone to her voice that she wasn’t aware of. "I didn't go to any dances after you left."

Brock patted her arm in sympathy. “That's kinda sad." She shot him a look and he held up his hands, " _Sweet_! I meant sweet!"

"You better have. There just wasn't anyone who held a candle to you. You ruined me for other guys. Poor Carl would have hated your guts, I talked about you constantly." 

"So that's why my ears were burning. I thought I had a reaction to the rubber of the gas masks we used for training." A splotch of green trees came into view. “That's a new park, isn’t it? Let’s see how the shocks on this thing handle a jog. Vrooom!" From the babbling in the stroller, the twins enjoyed a good run.

“How about that bench, over there. By the playground.“ Jessica took his arm.

Brock pointed at another bench beside some azaleas. ”But this one has better shade."

Jessica shook her head. ”THAT ONE." 

Brock made a face at her. “Okay, okay. How'd you get to be so scary? Was it a college class or did you take a course over the internet?” 

There was a small brass plaque on the bench. _In Eternal Gratitude._ His father’s name was inscribed below it. Brock knelt down, touched the plaque and had to close his eyes, overwhelmed with old emotions he’d crammed deep down inside.

"The lady your dad saved in the supermarket, she had this dedicated to your him. She collected donations from the whole town at her checkstand.“ 

"I didn't know." Brock wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. One more thing that Jack had hidden from him and he’d discovered and reclaimed. "This is really beautiful." He stood up and embraced his wife. They stood there until Zelda began to howl with boredom. Brock unlatched the safety harness and picked up his niece. The smell of her baby-soft hair calmed him and she struggled to get down. She wasn’t walking on her own yet, but that wasn’t going to stop her.

"Zelda? Do you feel like eating some tasty sand? Mmmm. Nom nom nom." Jessica laughed at his goofy face.

"I don't think sand is part of the food pyramid."

"They'll only eat it once. Just like paste."

"I dunno, I mean think about who their daddy is."

"Dirt is good for kids. Now where did your sock go young lady? Did you eat your sock? Did you eat your foot? I’ll eat your foot.“ Brock held Zelda up and pretended to devour her toes. Peals of baby laughter bubbled up and spilled over. Jessica stared at him as if she were going to crumple into tears. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She busied herself spreading out a blanket in the dappled shade. “It's good to see you smile like that. With your whole face. It's been a while."

Brock helped Zelda tromp through the sand, she clung to his fingers for support and then flung herself down in the sand. “I like this new life, Jess. I like it with you."

 

Laying in the grass with a dozing, drooling baby girl on his chest, Brock gazed up at the clouds, one arm under his head. Link was in the stroller, napping and Jessica was sprawled face first on the blanket next to the stroller. She was more tired than usual. The trip had been rough on her. And the car sickness didn't help-- _OH MY GOD_. 

"Jess? Honey?" Brock cautiously ventured. 

Jessica answered, a bit of drool leaking from the corner of her mouth as well. “Mmm?”

"Am I going to be a daddy?”

Jessica nodded and Brock’s heart flipped. “Yeah. Napping. Talk later." His pulse rushed in his ears and he fought back all the questions he had. 

Brock couldn’t resist lifting little Zelda up above him, “Do you hear that Zelda? You're going to have a cousin!" She cracked open her eyes, yawned and spit up directly in his eye. 

 

"Mom made a point of getting the city to extend the sidewalks out there by the ravine after your little accident." Link batted away his bottle and demanded to be put down in the grass. 

“Your mother is an amazing lady."

"Tell her that over dinner tonight right as she's taking a drink. I want to see it shoot out her nose." 

"Should I really lean into it, give her the old Rumlow charm?" Brock winked at her and took a piece of grass out of Zelda’s mouth. 

"Is that what you call it? Think it's hereditary?"

"Does your family know--? Oh of course they know. You told your sister before me. That hurts Jess. That hurts." Brock pressed his hand to his chest.

"Well, I didn't know if you wanted kids and I figured this would be a good way of letting you experience the joys of parenthood. If you could hand twins, you could handle anything.“ She squinted at him. "Your eye is really red."

Brock shrugged. “Semen hurts worse."

Jessica leaned closer. “You are super gross. _Tell me all about it_."

"Not in front of the kids, woman! We have to set an example.” He stole a kiss. “Do you think they'll inherit more than my charm?"

Jessica rested her forehead against his and then ruffled his hair. ”Hopefully your hair genes. As for the rest? I don't know."

"I think I'll just give you a piece of vibranium to hold on to during labor so you don’t pulp all the bones in my hand.”

"Yeeash. Probably a good idea." Jessica looked at her phone. “Want to swing by your old house? if we don't kill some more time, Jenny's going to kill us."

 

His childhood home was a garish shade of purple with lime trim. “What the hell?” Brock sputtered. “It looks like the Hulk puked on it!” 

“This is all second-hand from Jenny. The story is that the people who bought it from you got in a fight with the people across that street over some shrubs and they painted the house to piss the other neighbors off. The new owner hasn’t painted over it yet. I guess he likes it?”

Brock shook his head and then he spotted something in the darkness of the open garage. A motorcycle and a helmet that starred in some of his most perverted, private memories. The encounter in the gas station bathroom, pork rinds and hot spunk. 

_I'll be waiting right around where we first met because I'm sentimental like that._

His hand balled up into a fist and he held back the urge to unholster the small Glock strapped to his calf. “Give me a moment,” he waved Jessica back. “Watch the kids. If I give the word, you fly the fuck out of here. Got it?” He ordered and Jessica nodded, her eyes wide with alarm.

He looked ridiculous, clearing his old front yard like it was a hostile war zone, but if Jack was possibly involved then he couldn’t be too cautious. He peered into the dark. 

It was a different helmet. A different bike. Relief washed over him. He turned and then glanced back, something small and red caught his attention. It was a Beanie Baby. One of the bears. 

_Naah._ Everyone collected those things. It wasn’t a sign of anything nefarious. 

He waved at Jessica, who was frankly terrified at his actions. Over-reacting. Flinching at shadows. He needed to make another appointment with his therapist when he got home. 

Brock didn’t see the coffee can full of sand and cigarette butts in the corner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at home sick so you get a chapter of domestic fluff.


	27. Chapter 27

 

Brock stared up at the ceiling of Jessica's old bedroom. Glow in the dark stickers peppered the paint, faintly green. They had the same stars in their bedroom at home. He'd opted for an air mattress on the floor instead of trying to squeeze in with his restless wife. Last time he'd tried to share a tiny bed in a ragbag motel room, she'd broken his nose when she flipped over. She'd been so apologetic and enthusiastic afterwards. He did the math. _Yep_. That had been the one time they'd forgotten the condom.

Jessica murmured, “I can hear you thinking." She rolled over and dangled her hand over the edge of the bed. She carded back his hair with her fingertips. 

He smiled up at her, “That loud, huh?" Brock took her hand and kissed her palm. "Sorry about this afternoon. I didn't mean to scare you. One day, I'll stop flinching at shadows. It might be a while though. I’m starting to understand that.” 

She nodded, her eyes soft in the darkness. There was a nightlight in the wall and it cast shadows over the posters on the wall. “Nothing has changed in here, it’s like I’ve time traveled back to 1985.” Brock pointed at a poster of a glittery unicorn on the wall. “I remember looking at that when we snuck in here to fool around. Memories.” He grinned up at her, she was thinking about those times too. 

“Comfy down there?" Jessica asked. 

He stretched out and the mattress protested with a faint hiss. ”There's nothing like a leaky air mattress." He patted it. “Wanna feel first hand?”

“Tempting but no.” She beckoned at him, “How about you come up here and work off some of that nervous energy." He crawled up on the bed, on top of her and began kissing her throat. "Lower.” He nipped at the skin of her shoulder, she pressed her hand on his head. “Lower. Do you need me to draw a map?" Brock hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her underwear and she lifted her hips as he shimmied them down her legs.

He rested his stubbled chin on her pubic bone. “Draw me a map Jess. In crayon. With stickers. And glitter glue." She tossed back her head as he licked a wide stripe up her slit. He settled in, probing with clever lips and devious tongue. She moaned and he teased her,“Shh baby, you're going to wake up the whole neighborhood." He went back to work, making her tremble beneath him and her thighs squeezed against his ears. She tended to forget her own tremendous strength during the throes of orgasm and Brock loved it. It made him work harder, faster and if he had a couple of bruises from her heels drumming against his back, so be it. 

She panted, glossy eyed with sweat beading her brow from her pleasure. “Did I hurt you?"

Brock wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She’d soaked his chin. “No more than usual. I used to get hazard pay for doing dangerous things." He licked his fingers making sure she watched. "But what a way to go."

"I'll put it on your tombstone. ' _Head crushed by his wife's thighs, he died with a smile_.' Now come over here and let me return the favor.” Any amorous intent was squashed by the sound of two angry babies screaming out their impotent rage at the world. Brock blew out his cheeks and sighed. 

"Next time we visit, let's get a motel room. You get some rest, I'll go pace the floor and rescue Jenny." He covered up Jessica and she put in earplugs. He kissed the tip of her nose, tripped over his shoes on the floor. He made a trip to the bathroom to wash his face and hands as he willed his boner to fade away. _Cold water. Very cold water._

 

"You gotta bounce him on your hip. Like that.” Jenny directed as she fed Zelda. Brock followed her instructions and Link gurgled happily as Brock jostled loose gas bubbles with his bounces. "They really like you." Brock smiled. “You'll be a good dad."

"I hope so. I know how important having a father is." The words escaped from his mouth without thought and he bit his lip. 

Jenny rubbed her belly. ”Fucking soulbond. I can feel him out there, you know? I wish, I wish I could get rid of this damn thing. It looks so weird, all stretched out."

Brock thought about beltsanders. "Sorry. It must be hard on you."

"No, it's okay. I'm sure he'll want to be a part of their lives once the hard part is over." She cleaned up Zelda’s spit up.

"All of it is the hard part. That's what my mom said." Brock gently poked Link in the chest to a bubble of giggles. "Yeah, you're cute now Link, but one day you're going to be a teenager and you'll steal all of your mom's hairspray. Is he supposed to spit up that much?" 

Jenny threw him a burp cloth and Brock tried in vain to clean it all up. ”Like Old Faithful." She put Zelda in her crib. “I’m really grateful for your help. Mom tries, but her MS is acting up and the kids won't stop growing. It's rough. I can't afford to hire a helper because I can't work at the real estate office." Jenny sighed, "Like a snake eating its own tail."

"I wish we lived closer."

"Me too." Jenny said far too casually, "Your old home is up for sale, you know?"

Brock grimaced. “I’m tempted to buy it back just to repaint the damn thing."

"We don't have a gym in town and the paper is looking for a photographer." The hope on her face was heart-rending. “Sorry. I-- I was just hoping. You're so good with them. I'm really jealous of Jessica."

Brock shook his head. “Oh don't be. I've got some world class baggage that I'm slowly unpacking. Like this afternoon, for example."

"Jess mentioned something about that. You've got a bad ex out there."

"The worst. The odds are fairly good that he's dead, but there's still that that slim chance. That chance that he could make this all explode in my face.” He shifted Link in his arms. “I’m not joking about that either, he could make an IED in his sleep. I'm going to have a family. A real family. Something made on a foundation of love, instead of lies. It really hasn't sunk in yet. Feels a bit like a dream." The sentimental moment was interrupted by Link filling his diaper. “Really little guy? Really?"

Jenny pointed and yawned. ”Changing table is over there for another dose of harsh reality. Foundations of love are great, but I’d take a nanny any day.”

 

"I'm going to go check out the storage unit while you girls hang out with your mom and I'll be back in time for your hair appointment." Brock leaned against the bathroom door frame and waited for the sink water to stop running. 

"Sounds good." Jessica croaked. She was leaning over the sink, her finger tips leaving dents in the chrome. 

“You look a little green." She shot him a dagger of a look. “Yes, I know it's all my fault. Bad. Bad Brock." He slapped his own hand.

Jessica pointed at her tummy. “Bad spawn of Brock."

Brock stepped behind her and curled his hand protectively over her belly. ”Half of this is yours too, know." She leaned back against him and they looked at their reflections in the mirror above the sink. "Jenny wants us to move back here."

"What do you think about that?" _Remind him never to play poker with his wife._

"All my life I dreamed about getting out of this town. And now, it doesn't seem like such a bad place to settle down. Must be the company I keep. Anywhere you are, that's where I want to be." He kissed her neck again and she covered his hands with her own.

"Well, this town is great for young kids, really shitty for teenagers."

"We seemed to keep ourselves occupied."

"Yeah, that's why I said that." She spat into the sink and waved him away. "Go. Go. Bring back a Captain America movie or two."

"You know, I asked him out once. He was going to say yes."

"Great. Now I'm nauseated and turned on. Just go. Go!"

Jenny walked around the corner, Link on her hip and an odd dazed expression on her face.  "I know I shouldn't eavesdrop, but Captain America likes guys?"

"He liked this one!" Brock dodged Jessica's kick at his ankle. "Hey now! Don't damage the goods sweetheart."

 

Brock unlocked the padlock on the storage unit, the door retracted overhead with a rumble. A single bare bulb hung from the rafters, it flickered and threatened to pop. The unit smelled of dust, stale air and a whiff of something small and long dead. The door’s latch was faulty and it fell, leaving a knee high gap and little illumination.

A box marked _Movies_ was next to a box labeled _Dad’s Clothes._ _Mom’s China. Garage Tools. Brock’s Books._ All the boxes bore his scrawled handwriting. No one else had helped him pack. 

Framed family photos leaned against the storage room walls. Images that made his heart seize up for a moment with regret. He pulled the plastic cover off of the couch and flopped down upon it. His body had filled out and hardened, but his ass groove was still molded into the couch cushions. He put his arms behind his head, closed his eyes and gave in to nostalgia. 

The lightbulb flickered and faded out with a _pop!_ , leaving Brock in the dark. "What am I going to do with all this junk?" Brock said to the darkness.

"I'd recommend a flamethrower or some thermite," a voice said from the doorway and the hair rose on the back of Brock's neck. He sat up. There was an unmistakable odor of ozone. Pain spread from the nape of his neck to his toes in an instant. Brock's body went limp. Warmth spread over his thighs and he smelled the acrid aroma of piss as his bladder released. _Fucking shockstick_ , he thought. 

His arms were expertly bound, as were his ankles. 

"There was a time when this would have really turned your crank, Pretty Boy." Of course, it was Jack.

Brock tried to move his lips. "Can't talk? That's okay. You need to listen. Obviously, I'm alive. I can't say that I'm not hurt that you didn't try to find me sooner than this. I did tell you to make a new life when I was being all heroic. So I guess that’s my fault. I never thought you would go out and _do it._ “ Jack sat on a box next to the couch, his face veiled by shadows. 

"Heroism doesn't suck your dick or make you coffee in the morning. Heroism is cold comfort when you can't tell anyone what you did or who you did it for. I think the idea rubbed off on me because I was spending too much time with Rogers. And you'd just beat the shit out of me, so I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.“ He lit a cigarette. “That hurt, you know? But not as much as the look in your eyes. I wanted you to hate me, so you'd leave. So you'd be safe. But, _fuck_. I’m not cut out for this altruistic shit.” He took a deep drag and exhaled slowly, making a smoke ring. "I really do love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think because I have to do taxes and I'd rather get tasered.


	28. Chapter 28

 

The numbness slowly faded from Brock’s lips and was replaced with consuming bile-black bitterness. "You love me?" Brock croaked out a gurgle of a laugh. "This is all one big sick fucking joke to you, isn't it?  I should have trusted my instincts when I saw that fucking Beanie Baby. But instead, I’m laying in a puddle of my own piss, bound hand and foot by my crazy ex with a picture of my _mother_ staring at me. Can I safe word out of this? _Pistachio_. _Pistachio_. _Pistachio_!" Brock gritted his teeth and seethed. ”I wish I'd never met you."

“You’d probably already be dead if you hadn’t. You’re too stinking _noble._ And that hurts, you prissy little bitch. Saying that? After all I've done?"

“After all you’ve done? You murdered our team! You gaslighted me for years! You gaslighted Jessica! You betrayed our country and everything you swore to uphold! Not to mention my current glamorous situation! Which part of that should I be licking your boots in gratitude for? Huh?“

Jack flicked his ashes. “Wait, what?"

"Do I need to repeat myself? All the lies! You made me think she was dead and you lied to me about who you were! The fucking _treason—_ “

Jack interrupted, “No, I did all that. And _Gaslight_ is a fantastic movie by the way, Bergman is just radiant in that role. You really feel for her. No, what do you mean that I _murdered_ our team?"

"Steve told me. He told me you killed them. Shot them down like dogs. You’ll never get away with it, I’ll never forgive you!” Brock could twitch a finger now, if he could just reach his ankle holster…

Jack huffed out a deep world-weary sigh. “Fucking Rogers. I blew up my life to help him and that's the thanks I get?“ He shook his head, "I didn't kill our team, sweetheart. I took out Ramirez. That's it."

"You're saying that like it makes it any better!” Brock spat, “I only killed _one_ of my men, I deserve a cookie!” 

“Well, considering Ramirez was a HYDRA operative placed in my team to make sure I was toeing the line? Yeah, pretty sure it excuses any rash behavior on my part. you probably won't believe me, but here's what went down. The rest of the team and I, we captured Rogers and his crew. We were transporting them to a secure location for ' _questioning_ '. Can you see my air quotes?” 

“Anyway, some of the team had major objections to filling the symbol of American freedom full of hot lead. They mentioned this on the ride when the termination order came down from Pierce. Ramirez shot Anderson, Mercer and Anders in the transport in front of mine. I was too late, too slow to stop him. And when he brushed their brains off of his boots, he came to report to me like a good HYDRA snake. So yeah, I shot Ramirez in front of Steve. I'd piss on his corpse in front of his grandma. He deserved it." 

“See that's why I didn’t need anyone else with HYDRA loyalties on my team. You all took my orders and you didn’t try to second guess me to snivel and grovel for HYDRA brownie points. We were an excellent team because I kept you all away from that shit. God rest their souls.”

"And after my little temper tantrum with my Glock, well then I was well and truly _fucked_. I couldn't pretend to let the heroes get away. I'd be shot for my failure. So instead, I went all gung-ho. Became a honorary fucking superhero." Jack stubbed out his cigarette on the concrete. ”I’m still waiting for my invitation to the Avengers by the way. I don't wear a fetish costume as well as the rest of them, I suppose. Wouldn't you like to see me in head to toe leather, all strapped up and ready to work you over?" There was an unmistakable leer in his tone. 

Brock could feel his toes. “No, I don’t. I thought your motivation was to save Jessica and I from INSIGHT?" He had about three more minutes until he could move his legs close enough to reach his holster. All he had to do was stall.

"That sounds a whole lot more noble, doesn't it? But I fucked up and had to find new allies, fast. And they won. So I chose the right side this time. Go me. That’s my whole stupid story.” Jack propped his chin on his hand, his elbow on the arm of the couch. Brock still couldn’t see his face. It could be any face with the stolen face-mesh. “You're so fucking stubborn that I had to tie you up just to get you to listen to me. I took your gun, by the way, so you can stop with the mental countdown.“

Brock blew out his cheeks. “Of course. Of course you did.”

“I gave you that holster for our third anniversary.” Jack lit another cigarette. "How is married life treating you? It was a very pretty little ceremony, but I wouldn’t have worn that tie, not your best color. Jessica was radiant—“

Brock’s voice was icy. “Stay away from her.” 

Jack ignored him. “You're looking good. Those rippling muscles are all just for show now, aren't they?"

"Untie me and find out."

"Sassy thing. Sweet and spice and everything nice. You can't tell me that you don't miss my hands on your skin." Jack tried to tousle his hair and Brock jerked his head away from his touch.

"I don't miss you. Not at all." _Not late at night. Not in the shower. Not on long car trips when a special song played on the radio…_

"Now that's a lie." Jack chuckled. "Brock, you and I have to work on our communication skills if we're going to make it through this next operation. I mean, you want to be alive to change that baby's diapers, don't you?"

Brock froze and Jack took the opportunity to ruffle his hair. ”Don't look so surprised. I've got a parabolic microphone and a lot of spare time. Congratulations. You've gone pure domestic. Next up is the white picket fence." The ruffling changed to stroking and it was all Brock could do to hold back from leaning into that familiar, comforting touch. 

"You told me to make a new life, you asshole." He hated the soft hitch in his voice. 

"I did. I did. And I want to be a part of it. Just think about good old Uncle Jack taking care of your wee one when you and the missus need some alone time. Occasionally sucking you off out behind the woodshed. Seems like a great compromise to me."

"No." Brock turned his face away. He couldn’t have Jack in his life, not with a child on the way. 

"Really?" Fingers that knew every inch of Brock’s skin slid down the side of his face, his neck and then cupped under his jaw. “You don't want to have me on your six anymore? You think you can handle what's coming for you by yourself? Jess is crazy strong, but she's not trained. Doesn't have that killer instinct." Jack stroked his thumb against the pulse in Brock’s throat and Brock swallowed hard, squeezed his eyes shut. 

"You haven't seen her without her coffee.” It would be so easy to just give in. To surrender. So easy.

"See, that was a joke, wasn't it? Funny boy. See we're getting along just fine." 

"Oh sure, Jack. Untie me." 

"Nah, I need your attention a little longer." Jack returned to petting Brock’s hair as if it gave him comfort. "See, I fucked up again."

"I'm shocked." Brock said drily.

A shrug. “It is what it is. I was lonely, so I kept leaving you breadcrumbs. Little hints about where I'd be. You didn't see them, all goofy with love but some other people did. Some dangerous folks." "We're looking at two problems here. First, a group of trained HYDRA agents looking to end me for good. Tie up all those loose ends. They're heavily armed and have no respect for human life."

“They aren't the ones that are worrying you, are they?"

Jack exhaled, a cloud of smoke. “Nope. Ever heard of the Winter Soldier?"

Brock’s eyes grew wide. “You're fucking kidding me."

"Nope. You'd think the little metal armed bastard would be out there trying to bone Rogers, all soulmate style, but no. He's out for vengeance. He's hunting down HYDRA operatives _aka_ me. Apparently he doesn't know or doesn’t care that I'm reformed. I'm a do gooder now." 

He looked down at Brock’s frown of disbelief. “Yep, I'm still not sure it's a good fit either. He thinks the way to me is through you and he's right. I'd do anything for you."

"Jack. I cannot put into words how fucked up this is. You're incredible. And that's not a fucking compliment."

"Do you believe me?"

"How can I? You've lied to me so often." Brock had to ask, “What about Murphy?"

"How could you think I'd kill Murphy? I dragged his broken body out of the Triskelion, it was too late for him. He died in my arms. I cried for days."

"You don't cry. You’re a stone cold bastard who hasn’t felt a real emotion in your goddamned life.“

"I learned how. When you have everything taken from you, when you give everything away-- you learn how to cry."

"Oh cry me a fucking river, Jack. I saw your broken face and my bloody fists in my nightmares for months. That's on me. But when I saw the Triskelion fall, I _mourned_ you. I fucking grieved for you.” Brock held up his bound wrists and shook them at Jack. “I have a goddamned therapist, Jack. You hear me? A therapist, just to deal with all the shit you've piled up on me. She’s probably going to up my meds after I tell her about this little adventure. And after everything, I still believe Steve Rogers more than you, you duplicitous snake. You almost destroyed me." 

Jack moved into the light. He switched off the face mesh. He was horribly burned. From the fires at the Triskelion. “But I came back for you. I love you.” He took out a knife, the keen edge caught the light and gleamed. 

”You keep saying that, but you have no idea what it means. I don’t think you ever could. Jack, I wish you were my soul mate. I wish I had your name in glowing red letters across my skin.” Jack reached out and cut the bonds on Brock’s wrists and ankles. He took a step back and they held each other’s gaze. “If you were my soul mate, then I could take a belt sander to _my_ flesh to get rid of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was ... constructive?


	29. Chapter 29

Brock dug in a box marked _Brock’s Clothes_. He pulled out a pair of horrendous acid-washed jeans and shimmied out of his piss-soaked pair of pants. He glanced back to see if Jack was staring at his naked ass, but Jack had lit another cigarette and was glaring at the concrete floor as if it had offended him. Brock changed and grimaced at his sartorial choices. 

“We all made poor choices in the 1980’s.” Jack said, finally looking up at him. It was hard to read his expressions with all the scar tissue, but there was something regretful there. That was new. Probably an act. 

“They fit. That’s all I care about right now. Now, you—“ Brock’s phone rang and Brock looked about for it. Jack held out his hand and gave Brock’s cell phone back. Brock scowled and Jack went back to smoking. It was Jenny. “Fuck.” Brock cursed, he’d made them miss their hair appointment. “Hello—“ 

Jenny screamed into the phone, he had to hold it away from his ear. “Brock! There’s a man in my house! I’ve got the kids and mom in my car and I’m driving to Aunt Judy’s place, but Jessica is still there!”

“I won’t let anything happen to her! I’m on my way!” Brock ran out the door in a panic. Was it HYDRA or worse? 

“No! You don’t understand. I think _she’s_ going to kill him!” Jenny exclaimed, “Get your ass over there!” She hung up and Brock patted himself down for his keys, then ran back to the storage unit. 

“My fucking keys! Now!” Brock demanded, but Jack tossed a helmet at him and started his motorcycle instead. Brock put on the helmet and climbed on, it would be faster and if he had to, he could use Jack as a human shield. 

_Hang on Jess. Hang on!_

 

Brock clung to Jack's waist, his mind raced faster than the crotch-rocket motorcycle. They pulled up beside the house, Jack tossed Brock his holstered gun before advancing upon the home. They approached quickly, quietly. A well oiled machine even after months apart. It was muscle memory and training. Just another operation, another mission. Jack kicked a squeaky toy in the hallway and grimaced at the impossibly loud squawk.

"Hey darling?" Jessica's voice rang out. "If you're done playing soldier, wanna come to the living room and not shoot me, okay?" Jack stood back in the hallway as Brock carefully entered the living room. 

His darling wife, the mother of his future child, had the fucking _Winter Soldier_ in a submission hold on the floor. One hand was buried in his hair, the other wrenched his metal arm up in a way that no human arm could have withstood. The metal plates clicked and whirred as her fingertips pressed divots into the chrome. She pulled up his head with a yank and the Winter Soldier winced in pain as she dug her knee into his kidney.

“Brock. This is some dude who says his name is Bucky. He wants to talk to Jack. I keep telling him we don't know where Jack is, but he's not grasping the concept. So I keep repeating it, but he’s not much of a listener, like _some_ people I know.” Brock was grateful that Jessica didn’t have him on the floor. The Soldier shifted his hips and Jessica gripped him harder, the metal plates ground together and sparked. "If you so much as move an eyelash, I'll rip this metal arm off and cram it up your ass." Jessica hissed. 

Brock clicked the safety on his gun and spoke calmly, carefully. Jessica was strong, but that was a legend of mayhem pinned beneath her knee. “Babe, how did you-- do this?"

The Winter Soldier— _no, his name was Bucky_ , looked embarrassed. ”She threw a couch at me." The sofa was in pieces against the fireplace. 

Jessica twitched a shrug. ”I might have done some freelance vigilante work in New York for shits and giggles. Met some other metas.  Wore some yoga pants and kicked some ass. Sorry that I didn't tell you earlier, but you do like to be the big tough guy, so I thought it could wait."

"You might have mentioned it!" Brock sputtered, “I’m pretty used to dealing with superheroes!” 

"Forgive me if I have been a little preoccupied with all your drama! And those are the ugliest pants I have ever seen!" Bucky must have twitched a finger because Jessica gave his hair a shake that must have rattled his teeth. ”Stop wiggling! You are the wiggliest assassin I have ever met and I have met more than my fair share, goddamnit."

“How many assassins have you met, darling?” Brock asked, morbidly curious.

“That’s not important right now.” 

Bucky closed his eyes as if regretting every life choice he’d ever made. ”I don't want to kill anyone. I just want to talk to Jack Rollins."

Jessica groaned, ”We don't know where he is!"

Brock ran his hand through his hair, ”Actually," Jessica fixed him with a piercing stare and Brock sighed, “I kinda just found—“

Brock was expecting anger or fear, but Jessica’s face crumpled in despair and her eyes welled up. ”Oh goddamnit Brock. Is that why you were late? Having a little heart to heart with your old boyfriend?" She wiped her nose on her forearm, wrenching Bucky’s head up.

"Ma'am, could you please not do that?" Bucky pled with the most polite Brooklyn accent Brock had heard since… well, Steve Rogers. 

"Shut up!” Jessica yelled at the assassin. “So, are you going to leave me now? Are you going to go back to him and leave me all alone to get all fat with your baby and make me move in with my mother? That’s what happens to the Jones girls, we find our soul mates and they leave us!“ 

Tears streamed down her face and she blinked in disgust at herself. "Why am I crying? I don't cry! I hate being pregnant. This is all your fault, Brock Rumlow!" She slumped and pressed more of her weight into the prone man beneath her, he bit back a soft yelp of pain. 

Brock threw caution to the wind, grabbed a twenty year old tissue from his jeans pocket and daubed at her eyes. He stroked the side of her face, “Oh baby, no. I’d never leave you Jess. You've put too much work into me, remember?" 

Jack took the opportunity to step into the living room, his face mesh turned off. “And I’m not the looker I once was either." She stared at the ruined mess of his face, her mouth open in shock. "Hi Jess."

“What the fuck happened to your face?” Jessica gasped.

A dry laugh. “The worst launch party ever." 

“You can’t have him.” Jessica declared and then clarified because Bucky made a noise of confusion, “You can’t have Brock back. You don’t deserve him. He’s too good for you. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, to keep him all to yourself, to use him. That’s not love. That’s obsession.” 

She narrowed her eyes, “I thought you were my friend, but you were just using me, keeping me away from Brock when I thought you were being kind. I even had a crush on you. A stupid little girl crush. Well, _fuck off_ Jack Rollins. We don’t need you. Not anymore. I won’t let you steal our future, not again.” 

Jack nodded, tight-lipped. “I deserve that. And you’re right Jess. You don’t need me now. I had hoped that you might have a soft spot for me, but that was silly. Wasn’t it? Now, I can’t have Brock, but what about this pretty boy on the floor?” Jack knelt down in front of Bucky. ”You know my face, don't you Barnes?"

"I did." A small smirk. "Parts of it."

"Remember that I never touched you. Never let you be touched when you were on my watch. There were no parties on my watch.” Brock blinked at those words. What the fuck was Jack talking about? Did he really want to know?

Bucky’s whole body tensed up in Jessica’s grasp. ”I remember. I want the drive you took. The one with the data too sensitive for the SHIELD servers.“

"I'll trade you for it." Jack gestured at Brock and Jessica. “Leave these two alone and never look back. I'll go with you."

"I just want the information on the drive. Not a hostage.“

Jack snorted. “You want me then. There is no drive. Why would I trust a computer after knowing what Zola could do with them? Remember Zola?" 

"I remember." Bucky’s voice hardened. “I remember all of it.”

"Good. I still don't understand why you're not out there with your soulmate, Steve, fucking like bunnies." Bucky raised an eyebrow. Jack sighed in exasperation. “That's what you do with soulmates."

"I don't-- I don't have a soul mark.“

“Join the club.” Brock and Jessica said in unison, then glanced at each other. A faint smile curled on Jessica’s lips. 

“No, I had one, but it got cut off of me years ago.” 

"Sure you do." Jack reached out and flicked his finger against the metal arm, the tone rang out like a bell. “It's on your stump. HYDRA used the skin on your flank to repair your amputation. It's under the damn metal. Tattered and cut up, but its there. I saw the photos." Bucky blinked in disbelief. ”Didn't you feel it? When you were fighting with Rogers? I saw the damn light flare when you fell out of the helicarrier together. It was like a fucking shooting star."

"I felt something amazing. Then it went away." The assassin seemed to slump in Jessica’s grasp.

Brock perked up, “Oh! That's probably the serum too. Steve Rogers' soul mark flares up and then burns away. I've seen it. I've held his hand."

His wife shot him a withering look, “You what?"

Brock sputtered, “Jessica please! It was purely professional. I swear.“

Jack ignored the bickering couple and sat down on the floor. “I’ve got too many healing bones to kneel like that for long. Let me spell this out for you, kid. He's looking for you. Your soulmate will stop at nothing to find you.”

"I know."

"This roadtrip is going to be a long one if you're going to continue giving me two word answers." Jack rubbed at the back of his neck. "I want to help. This wasn't your fault. You were made into a tool, a plaything of ambitious men. You didn't ask to become a murderer. They made you into this creature. This wasn't your fault. You were a good man. You have a fucking exhibit in the Smithsonian to prove it and these weird online fan clubs.“

"But I killed all those people. I killed them all."

Jack’s voice was low and smooth. Brock thought about the first night they were together, locked into the room. Getting acquainted. ”Do you remember them? The people you killed?"

Bucky looked down at the floor. ”I remember all of them."

"I remember all of the lives I took too. And I knew what I was doing. They made me into a tool too." Jack continued, “A complete fucking tool.” 

"You're-- like me?" The hope in that question stabbed into Brock’s gut. 

An easy smile from Jack. “More than you know. Let's both try for a little redemption." He stood up and stretched his shoulders. “Let him go, Jess. We've got some snakes to flush out."

Jessica hissed into Bucky’s ear. ”If you try to hurt any of us, even Jack, I will come for you."

Bucky nodded, as best he could. “I understand."

"I don't think you do. I can dropkick an alien through an office building. Do you understand now? _Good_. He's got a lot to answer for and he's not going to get out of it as easily as dying." Jack smiled at her, fondly and Jessica released her captive. 

“What are you smiling at? After you're done you're coming back here so I can kick your ass. You owe me that.“

"Of course. You're radiant, Jess. You'll be the best mother."

Jessica pushed back her hair. ”I’m sweating and you're full of shit, Jack Rollins." She went to the kitchen, “And you’re helping me clean up the couch mess, Bucky!” 

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky followed her, meek and more than a little terrified. 

Brock looked at his old lover, his confidant and mentor. Watching from outside, he could see how Jack was setting his hooks in the handsome, lost young man. “Jack-- _don't_ \-- he's got a soulmate out there. A good one." Brock pled. 

"Why Brock, whatever are you possibly implying? I'll be good." Jack stepped close to Brock and murmured in his ear, "I'll be the best he ever had."

“Can you not do that? We’re beyond that now. Now, now we have to stick to the truth.” Brock ran his hand through his hair. “I need distance, Jack. A lot of it.” 

“That’s why I planned this little road trip. Maybe I’ll rent a Winnebago and—“ Jack began and Brock held up his hand. “Fine. You always become what you fear the most.” He took a deep breath. “I never had a chance, Brock. Fucked over by my soulmate, by HYDRA and by my own shitty choices. So I’m not going to be the old asshole trying to force a young man to bond with him. Not anymore.” Jack bit at his scarred lip, “I don’t want this to be goodbye but if it is, then know that I will always love you. You showed me what love could be. You changed me, Brock Rumlow. For the better.“

Brock wanted to hug him, he wanted to kiss his scarred mouth and wipe away the tears. He wanted to forgive Jack— Jessica laughed in the kitchen and the momentary impulse faded away. “Goodbye Jack.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You know, being a better man really fucking hurts.” Jack nodded in resignation and held out his arms. “One last hug for old times sake?” 

Bucky and Jessica came out of the kitchen, holding water glasses and Bucky suddenly screamed, “SNIPER!” 

A shot rang out, shattered the window and Brock felt the burning, familiar pain of a bullet passing through his shoulder. He cried out in horror because the bullet had gone through Jack first. A splotch of blood-red blossomed on his chest and Jack collapsed on top of Brock.

“Jack!” Brock cried out and Jack lifted his head. 

“Can I get that hug now?” Jack slumped over and Brock found himself blacking out. Must have nicked an artery. I _t wasn’t a bad way to go. And Jessica… oh no. Jessica… the baby… he had to keep them safe—_

 

“The baby!” Brock cried out and sat bolt upright in his hospital bed. He regretted that choice instantly and clutched at his wound. Hospital bed? 

“Brock!” Jessica looked like hell. Her clothing was stained with blood, her hair scraped back into a ponytail and dark circles framed her eyes. She clutched at his hands and guided him back down unto the pillows. “The baby is fine. Behaving for the first time in weeks. Little jerk takes after their daddy.” 

“You are so beautiful.” Brock cupped the side of her face in his hand. “So beautiful. I thought I was going to lose you.” 

“I wasn’t the one who got shot.” She kissed his knuckles. 

“What— what about Jack?” Brock didn’t like the odds. He’d seen wounds like that before, there was no way Jack would have survived long enough for an ambulance to transport him. 

“He’s in the next room.” Jessica smiled in satisfaction at the sigh of relief Brock heaved. “I couldn’t let him get off that easy, dying in your arms like some cheap romance novel. We’re already going to have to steam clean the carpets to get all of you guys’ blood out of it.” She buzzed her lips. “Nope. I put one of you underneath each of my arms and I flew here. You weigh like nothing.”

“You are so amazing. You packed us like you haul the twins for bath time?” The mental image was hilarious and he stifled a laugh because his ribs hurt.

“Yup. Got you both here in about three minutes flat. I was motivated.” She counted his fingers as if making sure he was all in one piece. “Being a superhero is kinda handy sometimes. But if anyone asks we’ll say I was high on preggo adrenaline or something like that.” 

“What about the shooters?” 

“Dunno. Bucky said he took care of it and then he left to go find Steve Rogers. Said something about having a change of heart. He’s a nice guy. Can’t believe that he’s been frozen too. Seems like an occupational hazard I should look out for.” Jessica paused, “Jack’s in a coma. But he’ll live.”

“He’s hard to kill.” Brock felt sleepy. “Hard to keep my eyes open.” 

“That would be the morphine, darling. Jenny is bringing me some clothes, so I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m never letting you go Brock Rumlow.” She ruffled his hair. “Worked too hard on you.” 

Brock nodded and began to drift off into opiate-induced slumber. “Jessica Jones. Sounds like a porn star.” He heard her snort of laughter and he smiled. 

 

Jenny rolled into his room a few hours later. Brock heard her talking to Jessica, but his eyelids were too heavy to open. “I brought you your whole suitcase. Figured it was already packed. Hey Jess? Why was Mr. Weatherbee in our living room to begin with?” 

“Who is Mr. Weatherbee?” Jessica replied, rummaging through her suitcase. 

“The man you dragged in here with Brock, of course.” Jenny huffed out an exasperated sigh, “He owns Brock’s old house. I sold it to him. Still can’t believe he likes the color of the paint, I keep telling him that I’ll take up a collection for him if he needs the cash—”

“He what now?” Jessica said, “He owns Brock’s old house?” 

“Paid for it in cash. Way above market value. Said it had sentimental value. Poor guy, I don’t think he has any family.” 

Brock began to laugh, he couldn’t help it, no matter how much it hurt. He laughed until his monitors shrieked at him and Jessica frowned down at him. “Sorry, life is just so fucking funny sometimes, isn’t it?” 

“Maybe he’ll sell it back to you since you saved his life?” Jenny offered, still very confused. “He seems like a very nice man.”

“My sister is a terrible judge of character.” Jessica whispered in Brock’s ear. “So what are we going to do now?” 

“Sleep. We’ll sleep on it.” He clicked the dosage button on his morphine drip and sank back into its warm welcome darkness. 

_Sonofabitch. Jack bought his house. Of course he did._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do you think so far?


	30. The End

 

Hospitals were far worse than gym class had ever been, Brock decided. Far worse than getting shot at in hostile territory. Almost as bad as funerals. Hospitals were sterile, impersonal structures of uncertainty. He'd been discharged a week ago, but he'd been haunting the hospital hallways. He used all of his hometown hero cred, even brought out the embarrassing selfies he'd taken with the Avengers, so that he could stay far past normal visitor hours. Jack was breathing on his own, the slow rise and fall of his chest moved in concert with the beeping of the monitors. Brock cupped his chin in his hand and watched his old duplicitous lover's eyelids move as Jack dreamed.

"What are you dreaming about?" Brock asked, his voice hushed out of respect for the late hour. "Mister John Weatherbee, huh? Made yourself a new life too, didn't you? Bought my old house. One way or another you were going to be back in my life, weren't you? Stubborn bastard. That's your superpower. Tenacity. Good thing you’re hard to kill.“ 

He blinked back a swelling of confusing, mixed emotions, "You're no good for me Jack Rollins. You never were. I'd be stupid to let you back into my life." He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm so stupid."

"Does my stupid man want dinner?" Jessica leaned against the door frame, a children's lunchbox in her hand. "Quit beating yourself up. You're not stupid Brock. You're not." She ruffled his hair, put the lunch box on the side table and looked over Jack. 

“It’s hard for me to be mad at him when he’s like this. I thought he was one of the hottest men I’d ever seen when he sent me those photos of the two of you. The filthy dreams I had. So filthy.” Jessica snorted at herself. “When you think about it, he had to be very organized to keep all his various plots going. I wonder if he used a spreadsheet. This isn't the first time he's been shot, right?"

Brock shook his head. "Last time was a lot worse. We didn't have an angel to fly in and save us." He tried to smile at her, it was brittle and unconvincing.

Jessica rolled her eyes at the compliment. "I'm no angel. None of us are." She set the lunchbox on the small end table. ”I had to go talk to the police again. I told them how disturbed I was at the random gun violence in my hometown. With a _lot_ of cursing. They must have remembered what happened to your father because they dropped it pretty quick. You've got a reputation as a hometown hero and you wouldn't be the first former SHIELD agent that had a potshot taken at them by a reactionary lunatic post HYDRA reveal." 

She sat down beside him and put her hand on his leg. “How are you holding up? Drinking your juice? Taking your pain meds?” Jessica wiped a damp spot from his cheek. “Wallowing in guilt?" 

Brock shook his head, sadly. “He's shaped my entire adult life with his manipulations. I know there have been so many lies, so many unforgivable lies. He even tasered me and tied me up, just so we could have one last little chat in my storage unit.” 

“What?” Jessica raised an eyebrow.

“Forgot to mention that, didn't I? It’s nothing compared to everything else. My entire team, my second family, is dead because of him and HYDRA.” Brock’s voice wavered, “The last thing I said to him was that I wanted space. A lot of it." Brock looked at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. "And I haven't been away from his side since they let me out of my bed. What does that say about me, Jess? How weak am I?“

Jessica squeezed his hand in reassurance. “When you love, Brock, you love with _all_ your heart. You don't hold back. You just can't do that. You never had the shortcut to love of a soul mark. It wasn't easy for you like that." Jessica stroked the back of Brock’s hand. "I can't keep secrets too and be all outraged, so I'd better tell you this. I met Carl Lucas, Brock."

Brock’s eyes snapped up in surprise. ”You what?"

Jessica continued to trace the veins on Brock’s skin with her fingertips as if it were easier than meeting Brock's gaze. "I met him back in New York. We had a fling. He'd changed, just like me. He was a metahuman too."

"Why? Why didn't you stay with him? That’s what you’d always dreamed about. That’s all anyone talks about— I don’t understand.” 

Jessica shrugged. “Our soulmarks were gone and we were both in love with other people. Pretty simple.“

Brock’s brow knitted in bewilderment. “Well, that's good, I guess? I can't believe you found him." He mashed his face his hand. "You really found him?"

Jessica shrugged. "It was good sex, but nothing else really. He was thinking about her when I was in his arms and I kept thinking about you." She smiled at him as if begging him to believe her.

"I mean, I assumed that you--I'm still on some serious pain killers, Jess. This is going to take me a moment to process." He took her hand and held it to his heart. "You met your soulmate and you still wanted old Blank me? Wow."

Jessica scoffed, “I married _you_ , you doofus. I'm having your doofus baby. Of course, I wanted you. You're the one for me, Brock." She chewed on her lip, “I’m sorry I accused you of trying to leave me. I'm so hormonal and the shock of seeing him… I know you'd never abandon me. You can't even leave him after everything he's done." Brock glanced over at the man in the hospital bed and she took his face in her hands, making him look at her. “That's okay. It is. Your loyalty is one of the things I love most about you."

"You and I, we're good together Jess. I'd never ruin that." He pulled her into his lap, being careful of his sutures. Brock rubbed the slight swell of her belly with infinite tenderness and pride. “I’m really looking forward to seeing this little polliwog grow up too."

She sighed into his neck. “You'll be a good dad. I'm sure of it." She traced the edge of his cheekbone with her fingertip. "Now there's one last question that I have.”

"What's that?"

Her grin was wicked in the dim light of the hospital room. “Is there going to be enough room for all of us in your old house or are we going to have to remodel? I’m thinking we could add on an extension and rip out that old deck.“

Brock blinked, not quite understanding what his wife was proposing. “What?"

Jessica hooked her thumb over her shoulder at Jack. “You'd be really stupid to let Jack Rollins back into your life, but what about Mr. John Weatherbee? The poor man who got senselessly shot while you two negotiated purchasing his place. You've been very kind to sit with him. All the nurses are talking about it out there. A real hero. Reminds me of one of those low budget cable movies that make my Mom cry after two glasses of wine."

"What?" His heart beat faster and faster.

"I want to be around my family because I am not qualified to raise a kid on my own and if I have to have Jack in my life to make that work? So be it. Well, I think my crazy little sister and her twins balance out your crazy old boyfriend. He’s potty-trained.“

"What?"

"Try to keep up, darling. He's going to need help recovering from this. A lot of help. And I'd rather see you do that than watch you eat yourself up inside with regret. He really doesn't have a choice in the matter. He owes us this. At the very least." Jessica kissed his cheek as he stared at her in awe.

Brock’s mouth opened and shut, finally a reverent whisper escaped his lips. “I don't deserve you."

She laughed and snuggled into his arms. “Mmm. I'll hold you to that when I can't see my ankles. There are so many foot rubs in your future." Jessica lifted her leg up and wriggled her foot. “ _So_ _many_ _foot rubs_."

 

Jack— no, his name was _John_ now but Jack was a nickname for John so that made things easier for everyone— was stunned at the absolute carnage in his kitchen. He squinted up, “How did they get icing on the _ceiling_?” 

“Get back here!” Jenny hollered as she chased a sugar and cake smeared Zelda, “Grab her!”

Jack knelt down and held out his arms, the little girl leapt into his arm and shrieked in delight. “Got you! Where’s Link?” 

“I’ve got him.” Brock said, “Slippery little fish.” A streak of blue icing was mashed into Brock’s hair. 

“Love your highlights.” Jessica laughed as she pulled little Isaac from his high chair. “I think you got more cake up your nose than in your mouth Boo Boo.” Isaac squealed and giggled, sounds that Jack never thought would exist in his life. Sounds that he hadn’t ever thought he’d treasure. 

Zelda chirped and squirmed in his arms, “Down! Down! ‘Ack!”

“It’s bath time for you, sweetheart. Draw Uncle Jack a picture with the soap crayons?” Zelda tried to stick her icing-smeared fingers up his nose. “I think the baker is laughing at us right now.” 

“It’s traditional for a first birthday to wear the cake.” Jenny said, “The twins didn’t get to have the whole experience. Not in Mom’s house. So she gets all the cute photos and none of the clean up.”

The sisters finally wrangled the children into the bath tub. Jack and Brock began the very very sticky task of cleaning the kitchen. Jack started to hum a little song under his breath. 

“Never thought you’d be the domestic type,” Brock remarked as he wrung out his mop. “Look at you, all smiles.” 

“Guess I look at every day as a gift. And it’s not even my birthday.” It hadn’t been easy, all of them living together. And that was mostly his fault. _Obviously_. “Thank you for taking a chance on me.” Their relationship was platonic, it was hard to restrain his impulses but this new life was worth the sacrifice. Some lonely nights he groaned into his pillow and rutted into his hand as he remembered the taste of Brock’s skin.

Brock shrugged, “Worked too hard on you. And besides, you are an excellent babysitter. Who would have thought your previous occupationas a strategic mastermind would translate so well into wrangling toddlers and the Jones sisters.”

“You never worked with the people I did. They weren’t even cute when they threw tantrums. No dimples at all.” Jack chuckled as he scrubbed at the tile counter. “I hope this food coloring won’t stain the grout.” He bent over to give it some elbow grease. 

A hot, wet tongue licked the hollow behind his ear and Jack froze in shock. He stared at Brock, dumbfounded. Brock licked a gob of frosting off the corner of his mouth. “ _Messy_.” Jack almost swallowed his tongue. The little bastard was _flirting_ with him. Brock sauntered off towards the chaos in the bathroom, pausing to throw a look over his shoulder at Jack that went straight to his groin. 

_This was a test. It had to be a test. There was no way_ … Hope flared up in Jack’s heart with a bright, cruel flame. He couldn’t do that to Jessica. Not after she’d forgiven him. _No_. It was just going to be Jack and his trusty old right hand, just like always.

It was what he deserved.

 

“So you licked him and he did _nothing?_ ” Jessica pulled her hair back as she got ready for bed. 

Brock nodded, “Yeah. I even used my bedroom eyes on him and he did nothing. Am I losing my touch Jess? Am I still pretty?” 

Jessica threw a pillow at him. “Yes, you’re still pretty. All the other girls and boys want to be just like you.” She cracked her knuckles. “Guess it’s up to me.” She prowled towards Brock and a fission of excitement zinged up his spine. “Aren’t you a lucky boy?” 

 

Jack pushed his reading glasses up his nose and tried to lose himself in a book about archeology— or was it space science— or cooking? He let his head fall back against the padded headboard. He hadn’t read a single word. He kept replaying the incident in the kitchen over and over in his mind, repeating it like a silent prayer to any god listening. 

His bedroom door swung open and Jessica tossed a half nakedBrock onto his bed. Jack’s glasses fell off his face. “If the baby wakes up then one of you gets up, that’s the deal.” Jessica announced. 

“What?” Jack stammered.

“Are you going to do my husband or not? Sheesh! Like I have to put a gift ribbon on his dick. Clueless. Just clueless. And I get to watch next time, got it?” Jessica muttered as she shut the door behind her. 

Brock ran his hand through his hair, a blush crept up his cheeks. “So— um… I missed you.” Jack pulled back the covers and Brock climbed in beneath them. “It’s funny, but my heart is beating so fast right now— It’s like I’ve never done this before— “ Jack looked at him as if he were made of spun glass, precious and fragile. “Are you going to say anything?” 

Jack leaned over him, bracketed him with his forearms. His face was mottled and twisted with scars that would never completely vanish, but had faded to something less angry. Jack’s voice cracked as he crooned, “Kiss me like you _mean_ it, Rumlow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted a happy ending for these idiots. I hope you liked them as much as I did. Thank you for reading.


End file.
